Snakeskins
by Sunruner
Summary: Pottertalia. Twenty years after the end of the Second Wizarding War, tragedy at the world's safest school prompts a clash between two Magical Ministries and an inquiry of a different kind. If the students and staff of Hogwarts School can't earn back the world's trust, then one Nation may do what the Dark Lord could not and close its doors forever. Long-term fic, Next Gen kids.
1. A Dash of Floo

**Lily's Theme, Inception OST.**

**Hello, and welcome to Snakeskins! This a Hetalia x Harry Potter crossover set in the canon universes of both series'!**

**I am currently in the middle of re-reading the HP series and am at the beginning of Book 3! My knowledge of Harry Potter's DETAILED universe is limited, so expect some mistakes and errors. Canon HP characters will make up most of the Hogwarts cast!**

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_**Snakeskins**_

A Dash of Floo

If there was ever going to be one impossible thing, one question that no nation no matter how old was ever going to have a simple, succinct answer to, it was involvement. How close was too close? How soon was too soon?

There would always be an inkling of things about to go wrong, a light fever that barely registered in the morning but that hung on for days and weeks at a time, an unconscious tremor or subtle restlessness that burrowed right down to the bone and sank its teeth in for the long haul.

And to be perfectly honest, even after his thousands of years of life the Nation now known as the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland still wouldn't have noticed the issue at all if it hadn't sprung up right under his nose.

Or.

To be a bit more literal.

It sprung right out of his chimney flue.

"Minister Kirkland! Terribly sorry to intrude!" It was a rude little man in an indigo robe, a lopsided green hat with yellow tassels swinging from the side like Romani coins: terribly out of fashion but there none the less. "Would have sent an owl you see but there was no, oh- uh- Hello!" And he was traipsing green gas and smoke across Arthur Kirkland's study.

The ash was long gone from the converted fireplace as it had been sealed at some point over the last three decades, but that wasn't enough to stop someone like this. No, in fact the decorative grate set in front of the hearth was doing a much better job of getting in the short little man's way as he fumbled and fought and eventually tripped his way properly into the room, knocking that florescent hat off his head and exposing a rusty crown of thin red hair combed with grey.

"M... Minister Weasley..." Under these circumstances, Arthur Kirkland gave himself credit for not losing his composure all at once and jumping up screaming for the old man to get out of his office. For once, he managed to keep calm with a raging pulse and bile in his throat. "I'm in the middle of something."

Something, meaning his two guests: a pair of men in suits who'd both twisted around in their chairs to look at the fireplace when it exploded with green flames. One was done up in charcoal grey with a white collar flattened around his throat, the other steel blue with expensive leather shoes creaking somewhere out of sight as he shifted. They were both wearing fine wool with polished cufflinks, fashionable ties and starched shirts.

Not the sort of people he wanted exposed to a frumpy wizard, because that was Arthur Weasley in a nutshell: frumpy, well-meaning, and nearly as witless as the rest of the magical community.

But then it struck him that there was far too much silence in the office for one of the wizarding world's usual check-ins.

"Mister Weasley?" Dropping the title, Kirkland watched the man in the brilliant robe do something he never did in front of muggles: he went terribly pale and started to shake. "Arthur?"

Even calling him by his first name didn't inspire a change, but before the Nation could stand up and try something else, one of the men across the desk from him stood up first.

"Please, have a seat, signore. You seem faint."

"Weasley?" the question was for Kirkland and he looked at the speaker directly, not afraid of irritated green eyes telling him how annoying this interruption was and how much he didn't want to be slouched over in that chair for much longer not getting anything done. Trying to come up with as solution, Kirkland held his breath for a moment before remembering himself and finding the words for an introduction.

"Gentlemen, this is Arthur Weasley, my domestic contact from the department of Muggle Relations here in London. Minister Weasley," and a quick look at his guests before confirming which names to use. "These men are the Vargas Brothers, my international counter-parts from Rome, Italy."

"A pleasure, I- actually no."Weasley spoke first and stopped the rest of them from saying anything. The wizard wasn't looking at any of them anymore, he was still staring blankly at the seat the younger brother, North Italy, had just offered him. It was like he'd forgotten what a chair was as he shook his head, wearing his age on his face as he looked up with sad grey eyes. "Not a pleasure at all, I'm afraid. Minister Kirkland you must come with me at once."

"What? I'm in the middle of-"

"There's no time," Hearing someone who was usually bumbling and good-natured raise his voice was uncanny, but Weasley brought it up just high enough not to be insulting, just persistent. "We must go."

Kirkland checked his watch and when he looked back up Weasley was staring at the floor.

"It's ten in the morning, man, there's no reason-"

"Sir there's been a death!" If Weasley had been looking at him he would have been shouting, but instead the old wizard was just standing there trying not to shake. At least now the strange behaviour made sense.

"A death where?" He asked.

"Two. Two deaths, sir..."

"Where?" He pressed.

Arthur Weasley was not a wizard known for holding his tongue or getting scared of anything. He was a veteran of two magical wars with children and children-in-law decorated as heroes and soldiers. But he didn't speak up now, sixty years of hard work and magic made a lively wizard appear old and rugged, so when he looked up he found Feliciano Vargas first where he was standing next to the vacant chair, then looked to Lovino who was still seated across from Kirkland at the desk and watching closely. It brought a kind of weight to the moment that their host had to admire and take seriously when it was finally his turn to carry that stare again.

"At Hogwarts, sir. This morning, nine o'clock: they found them."

One of his guests gasped, Arthur just felt cold.

"Tell me they weren't students." It was the only thing he could say.

"One fifth year, one seventh. Siblings sir."

"Tell me they-"

"International students, sir, which is why the Minister of Magic and Headmistress are both asking for you."

It was a mechanical response, still sitting behind his desk, for the representation of England to look at the dual personas of the Italian Republic and try to address them. South Italy spoke first:

"We can reschedule, my brother and I can keep busy at the consulate for today."

"Or we can come with you."

South Italy did not like this idea, but Kirkland really didn't have the presence of mind to worry about that, he just spoke up with a different question for Weasley:

"International: from where?" Who was Arthur going to have to call and visit to discuss this with?

"I don't know if I can give information like-"

"Weasley!"Now was not the time to be keeping information from him, there was precious little space left in his brain for anything that wasn't trying to piece together the situation and work out where precisely he had left his wand and robes.

"Italian, sir. Sirs."

That settled it. From the way South Italy closed his eyes like he was suddenly in pain to North Italy's fingertips biting into the wooden back of the chair, Kirkland stood up immediately and spoke to his original guests.

"Do you have any of your materials?" Robes, wands, anything that would let them easily move around in Wizarding London. Of course, North Italy was the only once to answer with a quick shake of his head, but he was already speaking quickly to his brother in their own language:

_"I'll go with them and learn what I can, but one of us has to be in Rome."_

_"I'll be on the next flight home this morning and contact our ministry while I'm in the air. Fuck."_ South Italy already had his phone out and was surfing through apps to find a ticket, and Kirkland didn't wonder why he didn't simply suggest magic: South Italy had never been very tolerant of magical travel.

"Minister Kirkland-"

"Eng- Arthur, I need to borrow robes."

"Yes, this way."

_"Kirkland!"_

"Do you expect us to wander around wandless in suits and ties, Weasley? Hurry up, there's another fireplace downstairs!" While Kirkland spoke, South Italy was stuffing papers in a brief-case and already had his brother's laptop bag over his shoulder. The host quickly led the other two away. He heard Feliciano call back with a question but the answer was a shout to hurry the hell up and not worry so much. Whatever rude feelings came from abandoning a guest to see himself out of the house were washed away by the reason why.

Thank god they weren't at Parliament today. It was always better to take fellow nations to meetings at his private home: there was nothing stressful between himself and Italy at the moment anyways. It was 2017, the recession that had strangled Europe was slowly fading day by day and as Kirkland hurried down into the basement of his London Townhouse he wasn't edgy about showing North Italy where he kept his magical closet.

A locked door with a simple charm to recognize who he was when he touched the knob, and a trio of fairy friends fluttering around the corner that Weasley saw at once and ducked away from while Italy put on a face like he might sneeze without recognizing them.

His basement wasn't to code, not London building code at least, but the heavy stones reached almost too far into the ground so a bit of magic had been needed to bend the sewer pipes out of the way. Tall closets, dusty tables: he didn't come down here as often as he'd like anymore but still knew where everything was. No electric lights, just candle stubs charmed to light up when the door opened so they could give the dingy space a murky glow.

"Here, pull this on." The second closet he passed was full of wizarding robes, a midnight blue with green cuffs coming out first as he rifled through the folded clothes and shook one out. They were nearly the same height, but Italy made a terrible face as he quickly took the velvet and started opening the buttons and toggles.

"Even I can see that this is out of style." But that didn't stop him from pulling it on. The blue didn't look very good with the auburn wash of his hair or the sun-kissed look of his skin, but he didn't complain about the permanent wrinkles or shower of dust as his expensive grey suit was covered up completely.

The grey robe Kirkland found for himself was threadbare in a few places and he wouldn't look like much of a minister with the trodden hem, but he was more concerned with hiding muggle office clothes as he pulled the heavy thing on and kept walking, leaving the closet open and rifled through as he immediately went hunting for his wand.

"You really do live like muggles, don't you? None of this has been touched in ages!"

"Twenty years." Kirkland answered, following a path between dusty tables of abandoned maps and discarded potion materials, a little bit of fairy light helping him along to the small podium resting against the far wall.

"That makes sense, but Signore Weasley, please: my wand is in Rome, can't you do something about these wrinkles? Or the colour?"

"To travel so far without magic, I wish I was young enough to try something like that again."

Arthur Kirkland's wand was one of the most heavily protected items in his home. He didn't use it very often: he could still remember a time before wide-spread wand usage, and he'd learned from nations who'd never imagined endowing so much power on a simple wooden rod. Thirteen inches of English Oak with a lock from a chimera's mane serving as the core, that last part was something of a secret after the banning of chimera hunts back in the eighteenth century. The golden lustre of the old wood was alluring, almost hypnotizing, with decals of roses winding around the base to form a grip.

Three enchantments were set over the wand and its stand. One fell away simply by Kirkland himself reaching through it, the next needed a few ancient words, and the last...

A small pocket knife and a tiny knick on his thumb next to the nail, just a little bit of blood to make the last hex break apart and stop him from bursting into flame or being tossed right across the Thames for daring to come too close.

It was like saying hello to an old, sleepy friend who was happy to be of use again as his hand closed over the roses. There was a warmth that came to him before the hazy question of why began to nag at the air, but that question did not have a pleasant answer.

"Alright, let's go!" The podium had a little cabinet door and Arthur quickly rifled through that for what he needed: a bag of pocket change with at least one gold galleon as emergency money, and a leather sleeve for his wand that hooked up under his robe to stow the old rod out of sight until he needed it.

There was another fireplace down here just like he'd said, looking back at the others just in time to see North Italy's face as he flinched from the gust of wind from Weasley's wand. It blew a terrible mess of dust from the floor and fabric and he didn't look much better for the experience, but at least they both came hurrying along.

"Are you sure you want to come with us?" A stash of Floo Powder in a china tea pot rattled as he pulled back his wand for the first time in twenty years, rolling the oak rod between his fingers and setting off a gout of red fire directly into the hearth. There was no wood: it didn't need any to burn for a little while.

"You just told me two Italian children are dead at your school." Kirkland expected to turn and see Weasley next to him, but the footsteps were Italy's, and an uncharacteristically harsh expression was on his narrow face. "Of course I'm coming."

"That settles it." A pinch of floo powder between his fingers and with a sudden blast of light and sound, the red flames turned brilliant green and Kirkland looked for Weasley. "Lead on, where are they waiting?"

"Hogsmeade Village, sir."

"You first then, show us the way."

Both nations stepped back enough to let the Wizard through first. Arthur Weasley's stooped shoulders and balding head made the flames lick and swirl around him so high the grandfatherly old man almost vanished without saying a word.

"Hogsmeade Station!" He declared in a full voice, and with a loud roar of flames Arthur Weasley vanished, leaving Kirkland and North Italy standing in a London basement.

"Feliciano," Kirkland offered the floo powder to Italy first, watching him nervously take a pinch between his fingers as the flames settled back to a crimson glow. "However this turns out, please know that I'm sorry."

It almost looked like Italy tried to grin at him or say something foolish, but reality came back too quickly and it crushed the forced cheer. He took the breath and wore the smile, but they both faltered and slipped silently back to the dusty floor.

"I wanted to take expense reports home with me, England. Not caskets."

He didn't apologize again. Maybe in his heart, or in the brief silence that hung there with red light splashed over their faces and trying to burn the borrowed old robes covering clothing they were both far more comfortable in, but he didn't say it again. He just held Italy's gaze until the other man broke away first, tossing the silver powder into the fire and letting it change to a safe green again before hesitantly stepping forward. It was hard getting used to magic after decades of equating fire with burns.

A deep breath that looked like it almost pulled old soot into his mouth, and with an accented voice raised high enough to make sure the words were clear:

"Hogsmeade station!"

Italy vanished in a storm of green sparks, and England soon followed.

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**There are currently 14 (and a half) chapters of this story completed, so hang around for the next few days and I'll get the next update proof-read and posted!**

**Leave a comment below!**


	2. Two Dead Children

**Lily's Theme.**

**POCHIIIIIIIIII-!**

**The response to this fic on tumblr and here on FFN has been so nice, thank you so, so much for your faves/follows, and of course your wonderful reviews!**

**As an aside: I'm aware that the fandom's best guess about McGonagall's reign as headmistress brings it to an end between 2006-2008, but I'd prefer to keep the number of OCs down to a minimum. Thanks for your understanding!**

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_**Snakeskins**_

Two Dead Children

Twenty years ago, one of the most terrifying wizards in modern history had been brought down for the second and, hopefully, final time.

What had been terrifying about that sorcerer, in Feliciano's world, had been his reach. There had probably been worse wizards, blacker souls, crueler hearts, but no name in the Italian records kept in Rome or any of the northern cities came with the same far reaching chill as Tom Marvolo Riddle: Lord Voldemort.

He'd spread a fever across Wizarding Europe that had brought Feliciano and those like him directly back into the magical world and its politics for the first time in decades. For some nations, like Germany, it had been their first major contact with the Wizarding world: something more than a strange letter or a snarky giggle from the looking glass. England and his brothers had born the worst of it: the mountains where Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry sat were Scottish in origin, and the major Wizarding families were mostly collected around London and out across the Welsh and English countrysides.

But Albania had suffered the fever and wracking pains of a population in turmoil. Poland had reached the nerve-wracking state of vomiting blood when the fear and paranoia grew too strong. Feliciano himself had dusted off spellbooks while his brother, just trying to hold onto his sanity, had snapped his wand and thrown the pieces into the Strait of Messina.

Plunging back into the magical world with no warning was a shock. He almost choked on the green flames and the taste of burnt flesh from the Floo powder. He knew the last part was just his mind playing tricks on him, Floo powder tasted like any kind of soot, but the connection stuck.

From Hogsmeade station there was a thestral carriage waiting for them: terrifying creatures with only bones and no real head, but they were the best way to get around without flying. It was impossible to Apparate up the steep mountainside to the peak where Hogwarts castle loomed with its towers and high windows, furthermore, it was impossible to expect Feliciano or England to perform magic like that out of the blue. If given a wand Feliciano would have been lucky if he could set the tip aglow, nevermind vanish into thin air and reappear miles away at will.

In the carriage he heard the next piece of terrible news, not the first or the last: just the next.

"Michael and Angelique Rosetti, they-"

He couldn't stop the noise he made, doubling over with elbows on his knees, hands up rubbing his face and eyes squeezed shut, praying this was a dream.

"You know them?" Of course England would ask a question like that.

"They're mine: they're from Florence..." Had he known them personally? No, but he knew their name. He knew their ancestral home. He knew their parents' generation had nearly been torn to shreds by the in-fighting between pure-blood members of an ancient house. Feliciano couldn't see the way ahead exactly, but he knew that if this didn't destroy one of his oldest Wizarding families, then they would still be left standing on their one last crippled leg.

"Michael was just finishing his seventh year, exams are at the end of the month." The school year was almost over, there was no kind way to take something like this. "Angelique was in the same house, two years younger. They were both found this morning."

"What do you mean _'found'_?" Feliciano had to pick his head up when he asked, groping through the borrowed blue robes trying to find his phone. Of course, by the time he pulled the device out and into his hand, they'd gone too far for it to work anymore. The electric current died and he watched the shocked little screen try to flash the power sign at him before it abruptly cut out. He'd have to send an owl to Rome when they reached the school.

"It... it looks like suicide, sir."

"I don't believe that."

"We'll see when we get there." England cut in so quickly Feliciano had to stop and try to hear what tone he'd just used on the wizard sitting across from him. Maybe he'd been too harsh, but where dead children were concerned he couldn't pretend to see any other issues.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. There were older schools in Italy, there was even one down in his brother's territories that matched Hogwarts in terms of prestige and honours, but that didn't mean England and Scotland's high fortress with its odd name wasn't impressive. Something was lacking from the high towers and dark stones as they approached however, the gates opening and closing behind them as the grounds rattled along outside the carriage. They were moving faster than if it had been horses, but Feliciano found himself craving a car engine to drag them up the mountain with the pedal pressed down to the floor.

For a school with several hundred students, it was silent when they finally left the carriage and moved through the grand entrance hall. Four hourglasses twice as tall as Feliciano stood glittering under the sun's filtered rays: rubies, emeralds, sapphires and topaz stones denoting points for the four major houses.

"Which house did you say?" The first words he'd uttered since the carriage stopped the wizard in the purple robe from hurrying off without them, but the old man looked so sad when he answered.

"Slytherin, sir. The green ones." Slytherin, the wide glass body with a silver snake coiled protectively over the hoard of house points.

It had been at least two hundred years since Feliciano had set foot in the school. It wasn't entirely different, but he didn't have the time to wonder about where they were going until they were already there. A tall, noble looking witch, older than the Wizard who'd brought them this far, was waiting for them atop several flights of shifting stairs. Her crimson robes were edged with black mink, a pointed hat with short, tightly clipped black feathers on her head, and there was a heavy gold ring on her left hand, wireframe glasses perched over her tiny pointed nose.

"Headmistress McGonagall," Weasley spoke up first, the platform they were standing on now was directly in front of a pair of wide double-doors, the old wood stained white with some kind of varnish. "Here with me I've brought-"

"Arthur Kirkland." The witch's voice was as thin as her painfully white face, and there was a tremor through her pale lips that looked like it didn't belong there after the way she'd stood so still waiting for them to come closer. The smile she drew up was a mask that didn't fit quite right. "As unchanged as ever, I see. Time does not touch you."

"Headmistress." England stepped forward and bowed his scruffy blonde head, kissing the witch's hand with a reverence that told Feliciano to keep the nervous twitch in his feet under control. She was worth the respect England was paying her. "I wish I could say you looked well, Minerva: this can't be easy."

"_No._" He appreciated the weight she put on that one word, and there was sympathy when he saw how her frail hands were shaking before she clasped them tight in front of herself. "I'm afraid this morning marks my final year at Hogwarts, I..." Her pause was delicate, it almost felt like she did it on purpose: if her eyes hadn't lost focus like that, Feliciano could have believed it. "I cannot abide to see any more young lives extinguished in what should be the safest of havens."

His patience was rewarded, because while England tried to whisper kind words in a voice that couldn't be overheard, the Headmistress lifted her black eyes to Feliciano and spoke straight over her nation's quiet voice.

"And I'm sorry, sir, your name?"

"Ah-" clearly England didn't want him to speak, or he was just being himself and trying to appear as utterly polite and in control as he always wanted to be in a crisis. He straightened up immediately and Feliciano just took the few short steps to come closer as he was introduced. "This is my Italian counterpart, Feliciano Vargas. Everything I do for England, Ma'am, he does for Italy."

The way England said it made it clear she knew more than Weasley, because the Headmistress almost seemed to wilt before straightening back up again. Her hand moved from its clasped position into his, but before Feliciano could mutter a condolence or try to kiss her fingers the way England had done, he felt thin fingers clutch and hold onto his with a strength that denied the shakes invading her body. She also met his eyes directly, unflinching, and that was something very few foreign nationals could usually accomplish.

"Then you, sir," But when she spoke, her voice was fragile. "Have my deepest, and most sincere apologies. My school could not keep your children safe."

He hadn't known he was angry, Feliciano hadn't felt it creep up on him until it was suddenly extinguished. It took a genuine soul to reach as far as the one clinging to his hand was doing, and he felt himself respond and appreciate every ounce of strength she summoned to do it with.

"The children, Ma'am." Was all he said.

"Of course, please follow me: the School Healer and Head of Slytherin House is waiting inside."

She swept away from him and Feliciano watched the shaking vanish and tremors disappear under sweeping red and dower black. The white doors opened and a wide hall of hospital beds and curtains unfolded before them.

The silence persisted as they walked, even their footsteps were muffled over the polished stones. Where Feliciano expected two people, he found himself approaching only one as they passed rows of empty white beds and curtains tied back to open the space a little more. The chamber felt like they were walking into the mouth of a beast, so he was thankful when the wizard they met next seemed as apprehensive about the silence as he was.

The wizard was tall, pale, and his slicked back white hair was pulled up across his scalp as if to make his face seem even pointier. He was wearing robes with long white panels broken up with stripes of green, a thick silver belt cinched his narrow waist where a white leather case for his wand hung. He was wiping his hands off on a thick square of white cloth when he noticed them coming, quietly folding the fabric without a sound and setting it on a bronze tray hovering at his elbow. The tray floated off once he was done with it, but the wizard didn't move towards them or say a single word until Feliciano and the rest of them were properly in front of him.

It took that long for Feliciano to realize that this new, younger person wasn't looking at the Headmistress or England, but right at him. He probably stood out too much with his darker skin, even the smallest resemblance would...

"I've searched them." No introductions this time, no quiet words or even condolences. This wizard had as hard a time as everyone else meeting his eyes, but at least he spoke: it was refreshing to be handled bluntly. "I've combed over them for enchantments, hexes, charms, anything. I've barred anyone from entering the Slytherin dormitories until you arrived."

"Gentlemen, this is Professor Malfoy: Hogwarts' resident Healer and Head of Slytherin House." The headmistress' voice introduced him and Feliciano mechanically offered and followed through with a handshake. They were standing in front of the only closed curtains in the hospital wing, and neither he nor the wizard in charge said anything: Malfoy just turned away and gently touched the white sheets, pulling one back without asking who Feliciano was or what right he had to be there.

Feliciano silently passed under the sheet and then heard it fall shut behind him. He was alone and it was better that way.

He was left facing two beds under the ambient white light, the sounds of voices muffled behind him as he took a moment to collect himself. White sheets with the shapes of childrens' bodies underneath them, tented over noses and toes, draped over rigid arms and silent chests.

One was longer than the other- one had been taller than the other. A brother and sister, he approached the smaller bed: he took the worst blow first.

It was hard to see dead children, and he liked to think that it was a universal thing. Nationality didn't mean as much when the victim was too young to face death, because pride and legacy and hope and all the things the nation stood for all failed when life was snuffed out. As he peeled back the crisp linen, Feliciano prayed for peace and his God failed him at once.

Her face was not beautiful. Under the scars, maybe, under the shallow cuts and rough gouges cut into full cheeks and blistering white lips. The wounds had been fresh and now they were clean. Her long black hair was newly combed and braided down the side of her head under the covers over her shoulder. She had been a small thing at sixteen, and when Feliciano touched the gouges down her cheeks he counted fours and threes in parallel lines.

He looked for her hand under the white sheet. Her nails were clean, suspiciously pure, but the length and the size and the spaces between them... If no enchantment had driven a child to carve up her own face with her own hands, then what had?

There was a silver chain around her neck, a heavy cross coming loose when he gently tugged to bring it to light. It was studded with small white crystals and there was a hum of magic to it, but when Feliciano turned it over in his palm he saw where the silver had worn away from nervous rubbing. When he looked to her hands again, her thumbs were calloused from the abrasion.

She didn't look like she was asleep, she wasn't resting or at peace. To Feliciano's eyes, the young girl who'd taken her own life a world away from home looked like she was about to weep and wail from the next life back into this one.

He undid the clasp on the chain. He vowed to deliver it to her mother when they returned home, kissed her marred forehead, and replaced the sheet.

Her brother only made things harder, because whatever had tormented the young girl in robes edged with green had stolen the life from a boy whose knuckles were bruised and palms sliced open. And Feliciano made sure to look at his hands first, to pick up cold flesh and touch them, beg stiff fingers to bend after rigor had already set in, whispering over them for secrets like callouses and clean nails had revealed from his sister.

This one had a strong face, but the bruises on his knuckles found partners with the old dark stains painting the side of his mouth, straight chin tarnished with yellow patches where older blows had healed. His hair had a similar curl to his sister's black locks, except tighter and close like ringlets across the top of his head. Eighteen and weeks away from escaping school into the world beyond enchantments and walls. The headmistress had called this a safe haven, but if he let his fingers wander Feliciano was afraid to find more bruises, more sore places and black marks on bloodless skin.

This one had been a fighter, so why had it come to this?

Maybe the answer was in the wand sleeve still pinned to a shallow chest crossed with Slytherin green and silver. He searched it, expecting the handle of a long wand, but when he pulled Feliciano found himself holding only a broken stub of black wood. A little more prying, and four pieces of shattered wand held together by the frayed grey remains of a dead pheonix feather came out and dangled from his hand.

Replacing the pieces with a fuller understanding, he unpinned the leather case. He would give this to the young man's father, looping the sister's chain around the notched edges of the abused wand sleeve before finding an old handkerchief stuffed in the pocket of his borrowed robes. Feliciano wrapped the mementos up together to keep them safe, slipped them back into the robe pocket, and replaced the sheet.

He needed a few more minutes to wipe the tears off his face where they'd flowed freely and stained the ugly blue velvet he'd pulled on in London, and then left to rejoin the others.

Italy and England were going to have a talk.

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**Why is Malfoy working at Hogwarts when in the book he says goodbye to Scorpius? Because I don't like the idea of Malfoy being like his father and just sitting at home counting his gold all day.**

**How is the School Healer head of house? Because can it please not be a rule that the Head of House is always the Potions Master?**

**Any other questions? Something else worth saying? Leave it below and I'll see you again with the next update!**


	3. This World and That One

**Lily's theme.**

**Wow, this story really picked up readers fast, thank you so much, guys!**

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_**Snakeskins**_

This World and That One

Oil prices, foreign investments, tariff changes, import taxes.

Global initiatives, international sponsorship, supreme councils, world summits.

There was an awful lot for Nations to keep busy doing without ever stepping foot through a magic portal or touching an enchanted piece of anything.

Sporting events, internal corruption, natural disasters, changes in leadership.

If a Nation wanted to, or they were particularly unfortunate, they could find centuries of work in the modern world without even bothering to bring magic into it. The Wizarding World, as a rule, was deceptively quiet. Magic folk simply didn't make up enough of the population to become a major chagrin: they were a minority made up of minority groups, independent from the systems which kept the rest of their neighbours alive and happy. Everything from sceptic systems to resource allocation: food, fuel, and transport, were entirely separate between muggle and wizard.

That was why it took England and Italy almost two months to come together again on the Hogwarts issue. And Arthur wasn't going to lie: part of that was his own refusal to talk about it.

"And I think that about wraps things up for today!" A conference in London went about as smoothly as their kind could expect, paperwork sliding into briefcases and friends standing up and stretching before hurrying to mingle and make small talk. Whatever their bosses expected to get done at world meetings, they all knew that the social aspect was where the real work happened between Nations.

"Ve~ England!"

"_Italy!_ You can't just leave your bag here!" For some strange reason, Arthur thought Italy rushed up to him to say something about his report on the Euro-rail line and the maintenance costs that had begun building up to support it. When Germany's gruff voice chased the Italian across the floor it was just part of another normal day, so Arthur almost didn't notice it when Italy grabbed his arm and made sure to get a good grip on him before looking back with a smile for his friend.

"It's too heavy! Why don't you carry it for me instead?"

"Don't be a child! Come here and clean your space at once!" Of course, much like Greece and a few other nations at the table, Italy's seat was pushed back where he'd jumped up in a hurry, and his documents and paperwork were still scattered around with a few pens and a coffee cup resting on top of the mess.

"England and I have something important to discuss first!" It wasn't unusual for Italy and Germany to butt heads anymore. It never escalated very far, but the childish back-and-forth was customary. What was different was Italy using a third party to get his way. "Something _magical!_ But very serious. Did you want to join us, Germany? You have to prepare a UN report on the Status of Education soon, so why not include a section on Wizarding schools and standards of safety and care?"

Germany's square face balked at once, wide shoulders shrugging and squirming under the grey panes of his suit as he lifted his hands and made up some sort of rambling excuse. Arthur wasn't listening anymore because at his final point, Italy had begun digging his fingertips down fiercely into his arm to make his meaning pristine: the last few weeks hadn't changed how he felt about the Hogwarts deaths, and he didn't want Arthur wriggling his way out of a thorough discussion.

"I'll leave you two to talk then." And Germany was absolutely no help, because the bare utterance of _'magic'_ sent him hurrying off to do anything else. Even after he was gone, Italy's grip didn't loosen up.

"Actually, there really is something I need from my desk!"

"You don't need to be so two-faced about it." Arthur grunted, letting himself be dragged along by his hostage arm back around the wide table. Italy only released him to start stacking papers and cleaning up as Germany had wanted, a smile fixed to his face and eyes cinched shut to make the expression stick a little longer. "I know you're upset, so-"

"Mm! Yes, so is there somewhere private where we can talk?" He didn't pick up everything, just whatever he thought he'd need before turning back around and snatching Arthur's wrist back up in one cold, hard hand. Nations were filtering out of the board room now, but there were always the ones who liked to linger and they were the ones Italy probably wanted to avoid.

"This way..."

Another meeting room on the same floor, significantly smaller, and vacant for at least the next two hours if the chart on the wall meant anything. The door wasn't locked as Arthur shuffled inside with Italy hounding him closely, but the other Nation did turn around and fiddle with the handle until it gave a tell-tale click of a settled lock. Wonderful.

"Have a seat, England."

"Italy-"

The laptop bag Italy was carrying was the same one from his last trip to London, and the top zipper was still undone from his fast clean-up in the other room. When he reached inside there was the loud slap of paper hitting the table next to them, but his arm moved so fast to put it there that Arthur barely saw the blur, just felt the wind hit his face from the blow.

"They're gone." Italy really was angry, not even speaking could disrupt his smile.

On the table was a folded newspaper, an utterly useless thing to carry around to a meeting- until Arthur saw the picture on the front page start moving. His eyes bungled the name of the paper and the article underneath it, confused for a moment by looping Italian script that only formed shadows of words he already knew.

A rough translation of borrowed words told him what Italy was trying to say: the Rosetti family line had collapsed. The details were hidden in words he'd need too long to sit down and properly read to himself, but there on the front page were several photos of smiling wizards and witches, a family with generations of magic and gold to them, crowned by two bright young children sitting front and centre, brother and sister, whom Arthur had seen buried a month earlier in Florence.

"Feliciano, I-"

"Do you know what happened yet?" Arthur wasn't sure what he'd been trying to say, but Italy was still smiling and both of them were standing perfectly still across from each other. He wished Italy had asked a different question.

"It was suicide, Italy, I'm sorry."

"Do you need me to pull up the numbers on young adults who commit suicide just weeks before graduating from school?"

"Italy-"

"He was a solid student, you sent me his Hogwarts transcripts yourself: he was going to graduate."

"Yes, but-"

"How often do children take their own lives when they have family living in the same school house? I understand bullying, Arthur, but don't be ridiculous."

"It was a tragedy, Italy! Suicide is always a tragedy, the entire school was shaken by it, but I don't know what you expect me to do about it!"

"You can tell me who he was fighting with." He was still smiling and damn it if Arthur didn't find it a little creepy when Italy was suddenly that much closer to him. "Tell me why she scratched her own face until she bled."

"The students won't talk about it." Arthur hated admitting it, but he also knew how dangerously close to losing his temper Italy had to be to start acting like this. He wasn't supposed to be aggressive, he was one Nation the rest of them could always count on to make the argument for peace. "I mean it. You left to escort the bodies home to their family and I stayed behind until the end of semester: the students wouldn't say a word to me or their professors. Slytherin house especially, and the most I got out of the other three were snide looks and no real remorse at all."

"You just said the entire school was shaken."

"They were... for a while."

Italy opened his eyes and he quietly put his smile down. He didn't glare or rage, he just looked at Arthur and stared straight at him until they were looking through each other. It was not a kind moment, and the feeling matched the way Italy spoke to him after collecting his thoughts.

"Hogwarts spawned one of the most terrible wizards of this age."

"Yes... yes it did."

"He came from Syltherin house."

"He did..." And he'd followed its founder's ideals far beyond what Salazar Slytherin himself had ever conceived. To bar muggle-born students because of the threat their muggle families posed to the magical world and the immense trust that had to be placed in people who weren't even magical, just related to those who were.

"The same house where two of mine took their lives."

"That's right."

"Lives _no one else_ in that school is mourning?"

Arthur didn't answer that time, he was afraid to admit that- that he was afraid to admit something at all. He didn't like being intimidated by something Italy had to say, he found himself suddenly chaffing against the awkward hold the other Nation had him in, brown eyes unblinking when a few minutes before he'd refused to open them. When Arthur continued to stand there in silence, it just riled Italy up a little bit more.

"I want Hogwarts' international status revoked."

"What!?"

"Either it happened because they were Slytherins or it happened because they were Italian. I won't see another ounce of Italian gold enter Hogwarts coffers until I have an answer!"

"You're being unreasonable-" He wished he hadn't said that, because Italy's temper burst:

"I won't let another one of _my_ children die because _your_ school is full of black magic!" One flimsy door wasn't going to keep Italy's voice locked up when he shouted, one threatening hand raised and pointing straight at Arthur. "I lost enough of them during your awful war! That school is dangerous, there's no heart left in it if its own students can kill themselves and there isn't a single friend left behind to tell their parents what happened or why! I want Hogwarts blacklisted from the Triwizard Tournament and its international Quidditch funding suspended! You put children in robes that turn three quarters of their own school against them, and then teach them to keep secrets from their own nation! Is there even such a thing as an English wizard anymore, or do you just have wizards who happen to live in England?"

"That's enough!" How dare he! "If you think it's so easy to get a bunch of moody teenagers to talk then I'd like to see you try! Why don't you just enroll yourself in the damned school and see how far that gets you!"

"And see first-hand just what kind of hate you're breeding on that mountain?" Italy hissed back, his volume falling back to a normal level as his anger, harsh and loud, was either burning itself out or just slowly sinking back down into whatever smouldering pit he stored it in. "I'd do it just to prove I care more than you do."

"Don't delude yourself." Italy stepped away from him, not because he was intimidated but just to give them both space to breathe again. "I'm not going to just sit by and watch you dismantle a legacy like that for no reason."

"Dead children, England." He bit back, and Arthur wanted to grind his teeth at the reminder. "I don't need a better reason than that."

They parted in an unkind way.

* * *

Summer was ticking by, day by day without anything to show for it. The most Feliciano could do by the end of another hot week in Rome was try to get his brother to look at him again.

"Lovino-"

"Look, if you want to do it then do it." He'd talk, there was no problem getting South Italy to talk, but where he was standing in their kitchen slicing vegetables for a summer meal, he wouldn't turn around and look at him. "I get why, and frankly if they'd been mine instead then I'd probably just as pissed off as you, but that doesn't mean I'm gonna like it."

"I don't want this to be a thing between us."

"You've been re-reading those creepy books again, and I know you went down into Wizarding Rome last week to have a look around: I'm not mad, I just don't like it."

"What happens if we leave it alone and the same things start happening all over again?" The knife in Romano's hands slowed down until the cutting edge just stopped against the wooden board, the spring onions he'd been chopping just sitting there with the steel stuck half-way through them. "I went and had a talk with Vatican yesterday too; I know he has the same reservations you do."

"You weren't here when they started setting fires, Feliciano." South Italy just wouldn't look at him, he finished his cut and put the knife down, but standing there in an office shirt and slacks, Feliciano just watched his brother lean over the counter without trying to face him. "Water resistant, wind resistant, they just burned and burned until the entire wizarding quarter was gone, and then they vanished through the smoke threatening to destroy the rest of the city."

"Lovino..." The silence was heavy, but it was the kind of quiet that was only deep, not long.

"I can't handle getting involved with their kind anymore, I won't watch the _rest_ of our people get caught in the middle again." Romano stood a little straighter after letting his head hang for a moment, and with his eyes set on what he was doing he scooped the onions up and dropped them in a hot skillet waiting on the stove next to him. They sizzled and were followed by mushrooms and garlic, the leafy greens for the salad he'd already been working on coming back under the knife so he could place the slices in a bowl for mixing. "But you're right. If England and Scotland can't control whatever's going on in that school then it's time for the international school to step in. It's America's anti-terrorism plans applied to the magical world, if you know there's black magic starting up somewhere then crush it. Investigate and fix the problems yourself, or just close the damned school. Just do something."

"I'll try and talk to England again about all of this." But while he was home for a break in between conferences, Feliciano still wanted his brother to just _look at him_...

"Just do something. Do something before... we all get burned again."

* * *

Arthur didn't expect to see Italy come back to London so soon after their last encounter. He was also surprised when his Italian counterpart was simply standing there on his doorstep in the late summer rain, hands in the pockets of another fine suit, a black leather suitcase sitting on the curb next to him. He had his eyes down and didn't look up as boldly as he had a few weeks before, but while standing there and letting the rain come down on him, Italy spoke first.

"You said the students at that school wouldn't talk to you." This again...

"They wouldn't say anything to anyone, it's like they'd all been hexed."

"What about each other then? Within their own houses, their friends?" It really meant this much to him, didn't it? It really was this frightening to imagine what should have been one of the safest wizarding schools in the world slowly collapsing in on itself and surrendering to a recent past of cruelty and darkness... "England, what if I really did go to Hogwarts?"

It was the last thing Arthur expected to hear when Italy looked up at him again. It was... almost ridiculous.

"As a student?"

"As a student." And then he shrugged, as if admitted how stupid he knew the idea sounded. "Age charms aren't so difficult and it's not very hard to write up paperwork for myself: I do it for drivers' licences and stuff every few years anyways."

"I'd tell you it's a seven year commitment you're making- unless you're going to drop out!"

"As long as it means finding the answers I need? I can't let this go, England, I just can't."

The silence this time was different from that angry board-room meeting. No screaming, and they weren't both clutching their tempers like it was their last chance at remaining civil. It must have been an impossible effort for Italy to keep his head up and look at him, because his eyes fell all over again and England was left standing there watching the rain drip off the other Nation's wet, curling red hair.

"Come inside then, you idiot. I'll make us some tea."

"I just can't let it go."

And that meant they were going to figure a solution out instead.


	4. Saying Yes to Goodbye

**Brave, Lily's Theme, Lily and Severus, Dumbledore's Farewell, iPod Mix.**

**no need to hold back updates since chapter 16 is already posted on tumblr!**

* * *

_**Snakeskins**_

Saying Yes to Goodbye

Somewhere not so far away, Arthur was sure, his older brother Scotland got a chill down his spine and took a moment to hiss _'You god-damned idiot!'_ under his breath before carrying on with his day.

Because Arthur really was an idiot, and so was Italy, because at the end of two long days sitting and discussing and trying to work out what in the world they were going to do about the Hogwarts issue, they wound up back at the same answer Italy had brought to his doorstep.

"Enroll? Us? As Hogwarts students?"

It was absolutely insane but after so many hours of discussion, it became sensible: it could, conceivably, be done.

"I'm not asking you to come with me," and Italy wasn't being completely horrible or unreasonable about it either, but that didn't mean Arthur was happy to agree with him. "I have Romano to watch and manage things at home, and in his own way this means as much to him as it does to me."

"You understand that you can't just drop into fifth year at a school like this, whatever charm you wear will have to take you back all the way to an eleven-year-old child."

"You're forgetting how long I was an eight-year-old child, England." Not a kind thing to hear Italy say as he sipped afternoon tea and helped himself to a biscuit from the little store-bought tin resting on Arthur's coffee table.

"We'd have to create a second identity for you so my ministry could file all the correct paperwork." He argued.

"Magical or not, your people are so fussy with their bureaucracy." And Arthur was willing to exploit that to discourage Italy from doing this. Rules, restrictions, traditions, expectations:

"You won't be able to just pop off to Rome for an afternoon!"

"England,_ I know_." But there was one thing Arthur had forgotten.

"It's a seven year commitment, six at the absolute least and-"

"Then close the school." It was that Italy had a cause he was fighting for, something he didn't get his hands on very often and it made his pliant personality wear away when rubbed too hard. "You're so against another nation seeing what goes on in that place: what are you hiding?"

He wasn't hiding anything, and that was why Arthur couldn't jump up and yell at Italy to just go home and mind his own magical business. He wasn't going to make himself look suspicious. Hogwarts was supposed to be one of the safest places in the wizarding world and Italy's challenges made him look inside for a moment and ask himself: what _was_ he afraid of? A little bit of bullying? Italy could handle a hazing or two, or if he couldn't then he'd go home in tears and cry to his brother.

And having North Italy politically out of the picture, or at least drastically side-lined for the next seven years, would take his voice off the councils and out of the meeting rooms. South Italy wasn't nearly as difficult to discourage or influence. Wasn't this a good thing so long as England could control the situation how he liked?

It was hard to swallow the urge to exploit the situation like that, and if it hadn't been Hogwarts at the centre of things Arthur probably wouldn't have been able to keep up his arguments. And more importantly: he wouldn't have been able to stop the words that came out of his mouth next:

"I'm going with you then." What if something _was_ wrong at the school? What if Italy came back after only a year or two with a magical report that shattered Arthur's expectations and brought serious questions against the school's administration? Hogwarts had almost closed its doors at least three times during the last Wizarding War, Arthur didn't know what he'd do if the same threat rose again in what was supposed to be an era of peace.

"It would be a lot more fun if you did!" And agreement brought Italy's dorky smile back to his face for the first time in days. "It would be really nice having someone who knows who I am in the walls with me."

"You're going to hate the food."

"See, now why did you have to go and ruin everything by saying something like that?"

He didn't want to pretend he was completely on board with the idea, or that he knew how he was going to split his responsibilities up between his brothers so when he finally came home Arthur would still have his position and authority intact. But Arthur was a good host until Italy left for his flight back to Rome, and then with much complaining and sighing, Arthur returned to his magical basement and did a little cleaning up.

Spells made chores much easier: one for the dusty shelves, another for the grimy floor. All the potions materials back in their places, textbooks lifted up and aligned in orderly rows on shelves reinforced with a bit of enchanted glue and a few planks of transfigured wood for strength. His wizarding wardrobe came out dancing, parading around the downstairs tables and shaking off dust and wrinkles before returning neatly to their refreshed hangers and shelves with pristine folds.

While the clean-up happened, Arthur himself was drafting a letter with a quill and ink well, scratching at thick wizarding parchment that almost broke under the sharp nib of the feather. When he was finished with a clean draft of the same letter, he turned around and was staring at nothing but an empty cage.

Of course.

It took Floo powder and a great deal of walking to deliver the letter himself, the idea of going to Diagon alley to buy a new owl crossing his mind before Arthur scolded himself for being frivolous. He couldn't invest in the life of an animal on a whim, and a little bit of walking around London was good for him.

What was even better was the letter already waiting for him in his mail slot when he returned home, enchanted parchment bearing Hogwarts' seal on the front and signed with a familiar flourish. Minerva McGonagall's sweeping hand had left behind only a simple message on the inside:

_"Come at once, there is much to discuss."_

* * *

Feliciano had forgotten when exactly semesters began at Hogwart's school, and he'd also fallen completely out of habit with letters by owl.

"I get that you're leaving, but keep those damned things out of our house!" Romano was not impressed. The first owl had been pure white and very quiet, arriving a few days after Feliciano returned home. But the way it had found its way into the house nearly gave both halves of Italy a heart-attack when they came home from work and heard a gentle cooing in their living room.

"DON'T FEED IT, YOU MORON." Headmistress McGonagall's owl acted a lot like the phrasing in the letter sounded, stately and reserved, but at the same time quiet aware of how it wasn't really welcome to take the bread and a few slices of meat Feliciano offered it.

The letter itself had a similar quality of nobility, but when he actually read it, Feliciano could feel the regret saturating the words.

_"Minister Kirkland has made the situation extremely clear to our institute. The affront shown to the Italian Wizarding community will be corrected for under my administration."_ It felt wrong to defer an old witch's retirement plans, but Feliciano couldn't help but feel some of the stress knotted up in his chest finally untangle itself. The Headmistress knew what was happening, and she made it clear from her letter that the rest of the staff weren't going to be informed of the decision: they didn't need the professors treating him differently.

The next owl to come along was a great big brown bird that almost bashed its way through their kitchen window when they were both standing by the stove cooking away at their dinner. It arrived with a heavy bundle of parchment from the English Ministry of Magic that Feliciano took the next day down to the Italian Ministry to have them sort through the sheets and sheets of requests and paperwork. The magical equivalent of a student visa was drafted for him that day by a confused little witch with a cute button nose and gold hair spun in rings around her ears.

After that, there was only one more major conference for Feliciano to prepare for in Paris, and both he and his brother understood that they'd part ways in France's capital for at least the next four months.

"I'll be back for Christmas, and you can still send me things via owl."

"This is still one of the worst ideas you've ever had, moron." The flight to Paris was short and simple compared to longer trips like Beijing or Sydney. Feliciano told himself to savour having everything be adult-sized as he tried enjoying one more taste of Italian wine. "When I said investigate I meant go as a fucking professor or just slink around the god damned castle as a guest, not fucking enroll."

"If you aren't careful, Lovino, people will think you're jealous." He also tried to get Romano to speak to him as much as possible. His brother still had a hard time looking him in the eye when reminded of all this Hogwarts business, but he wanted as much fast, fluent Italian as he could get before being shipped off to Scotland.

"Fuck off!" If only his brother would find more creative things to say.

The conference went as well as could be expected. The Italian President and Prime Minister both knew Feliciano would be taking a very long leave of absence for work reasons, and Germany had argued with him several times already about what could possibly be important enough to drag him away from work for what could be years, but the formal announcement was made at lunch on the third day of banking talks and industry quotas.

England looked like he'd swallowed a brick when Feliciano tried to politely thank Scotland for also agreeing, because France's grin was criminal.

"You're going to pose as _children?_" for the final two days, France followed them around everywhere. "Two cute, tiny little children? Or as I should say: one cute child, and one fuzzy yellow caterpillar?"

"No one's inviting you!" England was as bad about teasing now as he'd been in the 14th century, which left Feliciano doubting he'd be able to handle going to a school for wizard children. "Stop grinning! Don't follow us around! I told you I'm not bringing you along now stuff it!"

"Hogwarts is an _international_ school, my darling England." The way France leaned on the words made Feliciano turn away from Germany at dinner and watch the discussion, because before he got all the way around England was already looking at him.

The other nations knew part of why they were going: suspicions of dark magic and issues with student safety. But they thought this was a preventative stunt. Feliciano had decided weeks ago to be kind to the school's reputation for now: unless one of his neighbours picked up a copy of his magical community's national paper from the beginning of summer, none of them would know that this wasn't a prediction: it was a reaction.

"If anything bad happens, you have our support." At least that was what Feliciano had assumed about the rest of Europe and certainly the world at large. But when Switzerland came up and spoke for himself and young Liechtenstein, North Italy started asking himself if he was right to assume that everyone had put away their wands after the last war.

"In what world do _you_ offer to spend a year up in the Scottish highlands with nothing but English food?" And even if Austria didn't know about fresh graves and tortured families, he still felt compelled to point out that Feliciano was a strange person for the job. Why not Scotland and England? Why not Scotland and Wales? Why were the nations involved at all? "Whatever is going on at that school, Italy, take it seriously and be careful."

"Of course! Don't worry, everyone, I'm sure it'll be a lot of fun!" So Feliciano smiled at the encouragements and made sure to scoop them up like coins to fill his pockets, laughing with Spain about wizarding fashion and listening in on China and Japan softly reminisce about their own magical communities.

And for all his anger and intolerance around magic, Romano stuck next to him for the entire five days. On their last night before Feliciano was set to board a plane for London and in a week's time get on the train to Hogwarts, his older brother even made a point of leaving his own bed behind and intentionally taking up as much space on Feliciano's fine hotel mattress as possible.

"Don't say a fucking thing; just go the hell to sleep."

It was probably the nicest thing Romano had done since everything had begun with a burst of green smoke and a bumbling old wizard in England's office. That feeling even extended beyond the night, because Feliciano woke up the next morning to something pawing at his shoulder and Romano stubbornly feigning sleep beside him.

"Hm?" He wasn't the kind to be instantly chatty right after being woken up, but he forced the words out as he cracked one eye open over smooth cotton sheets. "What are you doing here?" The pawing was followed by purring, and then the gentle touch of a tiny wet nose to his cheek to wake him the rest of the way up in the early glow of late summer sun. "I thought I told you to stay home...?"

Nations had pets, Wizards called them familiars, and Feliciano woke up to his soft white tabby cat giving a dopey purr despite the hotel barring animals of any kind. The fuzzy creature was tailless and clumsy, patches of brown over its head and back, the whiskers over one of its eyes curled and sticking out like it was trying to mimic the curl of red hair pressed against his pillow when Feliciano put his head back down and closed his eyes for a few more minutes of sleep. He knew his brother was rigid, which meant he was probably awake, so he didn't ask what role Romano had played in bringing the cat along and sneaking it into the hotel. He just wiggled a little bit closer and touched his forehead to Romano's back between his shoulder blades, warm and sleepy and ready to go home.

He hadn't known polenta was on the hotel menu, which meant it probably wasn't, so when their meal arrived at the room door Feliciano didn't make a huge fuss about Romano being so nice to him. He just enjoyed the kind of food he loved most from Venice and watched his brother pet the attention-loving cat with one hand while trying to sneak as much sugar into his yellow cornmeal as possible.

"Are you sure you're okay with this?" It was a bad idea to ask something like that, but North Italy watched South Italy closely as he said the words, trying to make sure he captured his brother's entire nervous reaction. "I'll only be a letter away, I promise."

"Shut up, I've been on my own before." Romano actually looked at him when he said it, his gaze wavering a little bit but holding on as he forced the connection. "And I already had a talk with that stupid potato you call a friend: he's going to send me the new numbers for that educational package you two have been working on."

"So you're sure you're okay?" South Italy didn't answer, he was watching his bowl. "Lovino."

"I don't have anything new to say, Veneziano: just open your fucking suitcase." Confused, he did exactly what his brother said.

"Oh my god! These are _tiny!_" Whatever work Romano had done to sneak his cat and a carrier into the hotel, he'd also taken the liberty of swapping Feliciano's wardrobe for a similar style in less than half the size.

"You're the idiot trusting England to shrink you down, you get what you fucking get."

"I could have just bought new clothes in London you know!"

"I'm not sending my idiot brother to a Scottish school wearing English clothes! Say shit like that again and I'll set your cat on fire!"

"Wait, did you...?" It took until Feliciano was actually touching the shirts before he noticed something: a faded stain on a blue tie, and then the exact same suit jacket he'd worn yesterday during Russia's presentation in a child's size. Stunned, he looked back at Romano and saw his brother sitting there like he'd stapled a wooden plank to his back for support. "You did!"

"Your wand is a piece of shit." Romano's voice was too defensive to be insulting.

"You said you forgot how!"

"You kept leaving the fucking how-to book open in the living room!"

It was a wonderful morning that Feliciano didn't want to see come to an end.

Which was what made it all the more impossible, three hours later, when instead of boarding the same plane as his brother to take them back to Rome: North Italy found himself sitting next to England with a wax-sealed letter in his hands, signed by Deputy Headmaster Flitwick, welcoming him to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

And saying goodbye like that changed things a little bit more than he may have ever wanted.


	5. Diagon Alley

**I was gonna queue it up for this morning, but I got caught up with errandst! Sorry for the slower update.**

* * *

_**Snakeskins**_

Diagon Alley

"The train leaves in three days." Which meant they hadn't given each other very much time to finish their preparations. Most students at Hogwarts had half the summer to prepare: to purchase and pack all of their supplies, get started on their reading, and do whatever else last minute preparations always cropped up when least wanted or expected.

In the case of Arthur Kirkland and Feliciano Vargas, the biggest hurtle was shrinking both of them down from adults back to eleven year old boys. It was one of the few times having a magical family did in fact come in handy, because Scotland was also in London to help them.

"I said don't move, you twit!" But it still took them over half a week come the end of the Paris conference to get it right.

"Well if you'd stop jabbing me with that bloody stick then-"

"Ve, you two are worse than Romano and I!"

Polyjuice potion was a terrible idea, if only because there would be no subtle way for two first year students to slip away to drink a fresh dose every few hours or to keep replenishing their supply. Hexing or cursing them both to simply stay small also wasn't going to work because Arthur had already been experimenting.

A curse was manageable, but they tended to be difficult to break and uncomfortable to live with: a curse was black magic, closer to grey, but they never felt right and there would always be this lingering sense of unease about them when you were afflicted.

The very best answer that England and Scotland had come up with was a charmed talisman. It didn't honestly matter what the talisman was either, as long as they didn't take it off. Arthur chose a wrist watch with a water-proof seal, and when they told Italy to choose something he easily pulled a simple catholic cross on a silver chain out of his pocket.

"That's-!" At least it was simple until Arthur got a proper look at the silver body and its tiny crystals

"It's a good reminder of why we're doing this." The dead girl's silver chain was placed in a ring of salt and dried herbs on one of Arthur's downstairs tables. It took a drop of blood to bind the cross to Italy, and when he fetched his wand from his suitcase Arthur finished placing a bead of his own blood on the backside of his watch's clockface.

"I'd rather finish off England's charm first, if you don't mind, Italy." Scotland was taller than Arthur, his hair a deep, dark mixture of red and brown that looked like it gave up its fiery shine in the dim shadows of the basement. The two of them had the same long nose, but he knew Scotland's thicker build made him appear wider and heavier to match his height. He'd decided not to shave again since the end of the Paris conference, wearing the beginnings of a scratchy red beard down his face and chin as he held a hawthorn wand in his hand and waved Italy to come closer and help lend his strength to the casting.

"It's a physical charm, not a mental one. Thankfully, people like us are pliable when it comes to that." Thick Scottish words and a practice wave of their wands to make sure the three of them moved in unison, and then with one last nod to confirm that Scotland would be the one to actually say the spell, they cast as one.

Arthur didn't really hear what was said, with the steady swoop and rise of the wand points a deep sound filled his ears and rumbled through the floor at his feet. Earth became air and a gust of wind swept up from the stones and coiled right around him, wrapping over his shoulders and filling his ears until they almost burst. He had to close his eyes to stay focused on the warmth running down his arm, out through his fingertips, and along the oak length of his wand before it turned into a ribbon of gold light that ebbed and flowed in his mind's eye to tangle around the watch and soak into the ticking pieces, the leather wrist-band, and the silver engraving on the back where a bead of national blood had soaked in to stain the metal.

It was exhilarating and suddenly exhausting, but when Scotland tied off the spell and brought it to an end, Arthur felt rather light-headed before sitting down slowly on a chair conjured up to come closer.

"Alright..." Scotland was tapping the watch with his wand, bouncing the knobby tip against the glass face a few times until Arthur recognized a simple resistance charm in case it was dropped. Another easy charm followed to keep water from getting into the gears, and probably another one on top of that just to explain away why a young wizard would be wearing a muggle watch to school. "Give it a try, squirt. It ought to work just from holding it in your hand."

There was a strange anxiety around picking the watch up from the table: the salt and herbs were all gone, either blasted away by the wind Arthur had felt or evaporated by the magic itself. His magical senses were more awake now than they'd been in years, resonating with the enchantments set to go off at his touch alone before he finally made a grab for the watch and picked it up.

It felt like someone Scotland's size suddenly booted him in the gut. Arthur doubled over as his eyes went cross, nausea grabbing his stomach and squeezing so hard he felt one knee buckle and hit the floor. Nobody touched him, but there were footsteps and voices before he was left kneeling on the hard stones in clothes much too large and his head suddenly so far away from the table.

"Alright, stand up and let's get a look at ya."

"Give me a damned mi-" He'd meant to say more but immediately coughed, head jerking up as his ears rejected the high, narrow little voice that came out of his throat. Arthur had a hand around his own neck and rubbed the skin there, his fingers immediately awkward with the soft skin as he moved his own touch and used both hands to touch his cheeks. Absolutely bare, soft and utterly wrong for someone who'd been shaving on and off for the last nine centuries.

"Bloody hell!"

His voice was terrible: he sounded like a little girl! Standing up was a fight with trousers that barely hung on around his _chest_, nevermind his waist. His shoes were like buckets swallowing his ankles and it was a desperate thing to get his arms out of too many sleeves so he could hoist the back-end of his trousers up as he stood. It was offensive to find the table next to him at chest-height instead of down where it belonged for easy reach, and when Scotland handed his wand back to him Arthur caught Italy grinning behind one stupid hand.

"Don't you dare laugh!" The wrong voice hissed at him. "You're next, and don't forget that this was your idea to begin with!"

"This is why France called you a-"

"Say it and I'll hex you right now!"

"No you won't." Scotland dared to scold him and Arthur looked up with what he hoped was a scorching glare. "You registered yourself with the ministry for this stunt, boy, any underage magic and you'll be in danger of having your wand snapped."

"They wouldn't dare!" He argued back, but when his brother only shrugged and made a big show of nodding his head from side to side, he understood just what sort of mess he'd dragged himself into.

"You could always try and find out, but I'd double-check that letter Flitwick sent before getting my hopes up. Make sure the watch fits."

"It fits just fine!" He might need to drill another hole through the leather now that his wrists were so skinny, but Arthur clipped it into place and let Scotland tap it with his wand again, making the modification he'd just been thinking about without comment.

"Now take it off and let's make sure the magic'll release you if you need it to."

It was the exact same terrible feeling when Arthur let the watch leave his hand and set it on the table. This time it felt like a blow to the back of the head that made his eyes black out for a second or two, his spine twisting as it felt like he was about to heave without having anything in his stomach. His clothes didn't magically arrange themselves either, stitches popping and folds getting stuck under his arms while his shoes pinched feet that weren't sitting properly in his socks anymore. By the time he could see again and was back at his proper height with the frog out of his throat, he felt like someone had just tumbled him in a dryer for half an hour.

"Bloody awful," he shuddered, telling himself this was already more trouble than it was worth.

When they turned around and performed the same charm on Italy's cross this time, Arthur watched him for the same feeling of being blown away as an enchanted whirlwind pulled violently at Italy's clothes without touching Arthur or Scotland again. The red light that came streaming out of his wand's crooked tip left him visibly drained before it was done, but he seemed happy enough to reach for the silver cross and perform the same check Arthur had already done.

They gave off light during the transformation. A shower of red sparks began falling from the crown of Italy's head before his face twisted like he was on a rollercoaster and wanted off right now. He coughed more of the same fairy lights and then doubled over the way Arthur had nearly collapsed, and he just kept falling until it was clear he was physically getting smaller and not literally about to pass out on the floor.

"_Ve..._" A tiny squeak from the small child who tipped over in an oversized white shirt and loose tie. Italy looked like he'd just been roused from a nap as his lean face had softened back into rounded cheeks and the long bridge of his straight nose melted back into his skin and the softness between his eyes. "Did it work? Am I cute at least?"

"Cute perhaps, but I don't know if you look quite eleven." Scotland answered. "Stand up for a minute." He looked more like he was eight or nine, but even as Arthur watched Italy flounder about trying to stand back up bare-foot on the stone floor, he couldn't really remember ever seeing him at an age between a small child and a proper teenager.

The poking and tapping started again from Scotland's wand, a couple questions falling off his brother's lips as Italy answered in short spurts of yeses, no's and maybes. His legs were lengthened a little and Scotland tapped him three times under the chin to chase away a little more baby-fat, quickly making sure his hands didn't have any callouses. Nations had scars usually, and with those in mind Italy was asked to keep the cross on but wiggle his way out of the white shirt, his fingers fighting with the buttons until he got it off and a few more wand taps dealt with faded marks across his shoulders and back.

"There, much better."

"This is still an awful idea." Arthur growled.

"You shut up and go get yer money from upstairs." But Scotland was gruffer than him. "I tried buying your first year books for you before we went off to Paris, but the pesky shop keeper wouldn't hand them over without both your letters. We'd better get it done before they're all gone." Last minute shopping at its finest then. Arthur was just about to do as Scotland suggested and go to find a set of robes for himself when he was called right back. His brother was pointing at the watch on the table.

"You can't be serious!"

"You're better off wearing the charm into Diagon Alley: what if you meet one of your professors, or fellow students, hmm?"

"No one would recognize us!" Italy didn't seem thrilled with the idea either, but he stood there without trying to take the chain off where it was hanging half-way down his skinny chest.

"How long d'you think it'll take you two to start acting like kids again?" Scotland challenged, and Arthur tried not to groan. "You can't buy things for yourself or go talkin' to adults as equals, you're a hell of a lot weaker now than you were ten minutes ago, and nothing's your size anymore. If you two treat the Hogwarts express like your normal morning commute, you'll get funny stares comin' out your asses."

"You want us to practice then?"

"Exactly. Now get your watch on, Arthur and then go get your money. I'm taking you to Diagon Alley but I'm not wasting my gold on either of you!"

"Ve, I changed about a thousand Euros before I left Rome. Should I put some of it in the English bank? Grinots?"

"Gringotts," Arthur corrected, staring glumly at the watch trying to fight off the nausea of putting it on again. "And that would for the best. You've already got a wand and your cat is upstairs shedding all over my furniture, so there's nothing to buy that you'd need that much money for." Books, robes, potion supplies, and whatever else was on their lists for first year…

The worst part about leaving the house with the enchantment fixed to his wrist was the fact that Arthur hadn't had a child in his care for centuries. Sealand didn't really count: he lived on his fort most of the time and usually took home whatever changes of clothes he brought to London to visit England in. Trying to dig up anything from Canada or New Zealand's colonial days would not only kick up more dust than they were worth, but be so pitifully out of style he wouldn't be able to handle even going through the noise and confusion of the magical shopping district.

Italy, that idiot, was the one to suggest a shrinking charm for a simple tee-shirt and pair of jeans, not to mention trainers for Arthur to pull on that would actually fit. The first time Scotland called him by the name Feliciano, Italy almost jumped from the surprise.

"Don't tell me you didn't think about that." Being called by his personal name, not his national one, especially by people he wasn't very close to.

"From humans, yes, I just didn't expect it from you!"

"Get used to it, Vargas!"

Arthur's personal credit card wound up in Scotland's hand, something that was awkward and terrifying from Arthur's perspective as his wardrobe was replenished with tiny clothes from the children's section of a few small stores around London proper. When they finished muggle shopping for him and entered Diagon Alley through the Leaky Cauldron's back entryway, it was even worse letting his fingers release three fat gold galeons into his older brother's hand.

"Keep acting like I'm gonna steal it and maybe I will." And of course Scotland noticed his hesitation.

"Sorry..."

"You'll be sorry when Parliament's moved up to Edinburgh while you're gone."

"You so much as try it and I'll rip your beard off!"

There was no way to describe Arthur's endless frustration when instead of getting mad and snapping back at him, he watched Scotland choke on a laugh and say something awful to Italy about how impossible it was to take Arthur's voice seriously anymore.

Diagon Alley was two things to anyone who visited it: colour, and noise. London itself was vibrant and alive, but the Wizards District was so flamboyant that it was a shock to the eyes on a late summer afternoon to watch lime coloured robes and pointy pink hats chase squalling owls and duck under bright orange rafters. Lumpy cobbled stones wound back and forth along the curving street, the alley nearly doubling back on itself several times so it could fit twice as many shops as any muggle road elsewhere in the city.

There was no need for wands at Ollivander's thousand-year-old shop, although Italy did linger outside the dark window for several minutes while Arthur was stuck trying to remember if his cauldron at home was made of pewter or bronze.

"Are you coming or not?"

"Sorry, just daydreaming a little bit!"

Several times Arthur almost lost Italy completely in the flurry of Diagon Alley, mostly because he caught himself looking much too high for someone far too old to match the little red-haired child he was supposed to associate with Feliciano Vargas. As much as he'd already understood Scotland's emphasis on practicing proper behaviour, he finally agreed with it after he was not only nearly stepped on by one old wizard, but then had to stand obediently next to his older brother when a witch took Feliciano roughly by the arm and dragged him back over to the two of them. She scolded Scotland fiercely for almost letting him wander down Knockturn Alley, and then vanished in a huff of angry red velvet.

"For Christ's sake, _boy_, don't make me hold your hand." The scolding left its mark.

"All I saw were dragon kidneys in a vat, what's so terrible?"

"It's the Black Magic road, idiot." Arthur found it amusing once the witch bustled off that Scotland was still red with embarrassment and weighed down with potions supplies and two cauldrons. He settled in to explain things while his brother tried to get over his hazing by pulling out a midnight blue satchel with gold stars, talking while Scotland stuffed each item into the impossibly tiny bag for easy storage. "Surely they have one of those in Rome."

"That's all under-ground though! Florence's is the largest and they stay housed in the catacombs." Which was interesting, but Scotland almost cuffed both of them in the back of the head for saying it so loudly.

The next order of business was books, which resulted in another scolding for Scotland who looked absolutely fed up with all of this London nonsense as he used Italy and Arthur's money to buy the last two copies of each title on their school list.

"_Two days before term?_ Well I wouldn't be buyin' 'em this late if someone'd just sold them to me in the first place!" Two sets of books were crammed into the same expandable bag, and when Arthur felt his attention go side-ways on their way past the broomstick shop he felt his brother get a grip on the back of his collar and hoist him in a hurry to come along. "Gringotts and then I swear I'm getting a drink!"

Gringotts was a simple matter of waiting in one line, explaining that they were there to open an account, taking a small pearl from a jar full of assorted gemstones, and sitting and waiting for an hour while hoping for the thing to change colour in a hall full of noisy goblins.

By the end of it, Arthur was exhausted for what he deemed was no good reason, Italy had spent most of the time napping, and if Scotland had to watch one more wizard or witch in strange robes come after them and be served before them, he was going to cause an absolute scene.

"We could have just dug a hole in your rose garden and buried the lot!" Italy actually looked like he agreed with Scotland, because by the time they left the massive white tower of Gringotts bank, the sun was long gone over London, all three of them were starving, and Italy was falling asleep on his feet.

"I'm so tired..." He complained, and not in his usual over-done whine either. He really meant it this time. "I don't get it... A little bit of shopping…?" Arthur agreed with him. While Italy almost fell over while stumbling to walk, Arthur was having an impossible time trying to see straight.

"You're _eleven_." The crowds in the alley were mostly gone as the trudged slowly back the way they'd come. The different coloured shops were glittering with candles and lanterns now, and not all of them burnt the same colour: violets and fuchsias, greens and the occasional blue ghost lights all glittering off the odd cobble made of gold or bronze. It was frustrating to be so tired and have every step only carry him half as far as Scotland's easy gait. His brother even kept stopping and waiting for the two of them to catch up. "Whatever you're background, you're only boys now."

"So if we take it off, we'll feel better?" Italy barely got the words to come out, and Arthur swallowed his pride when he felt his hand and arm being taken up in his brother's warm grasp.

"That won't be an option later, so just get used to it now." Easier said... than done...

From Muggle London they took a taxi somewhere that wasn't Arthur's townhouse, and for about twenty minutes that evening Scotland vanished from the little Italian restaurant where he left them. Italy lost his ability to hold onto his English for a while with the waitress who came over and kindly offered him a children's menu, laughing when he must have said something about wine in between deep yawns and accepting a plate of pasta that Arthur didn't know the name of.

Scotland came back with nothing to show for it, and he had the audacity to pay for their meals with Arthur's credit card.

The next two days were devoted to reading and more _'practice' _outings before finally, at long bloody last: Hogwarts.


	6. The First Hogwarts Express

_**Snakeskins**_

The First Hogwarts Express

Platform 9 3/4s.

Platform 9 and 3/4s.

Platform nine and _three quarters._

"Will you shut up about it!"

The irony was too much for Italy to let England get away with. England, perfectly logical and all about time-tables and appointments. England who had a form for every query and a time and date-stamp on every printed box. England who expected his post to arrive at the exact same minute every day (except Sunday, because there was no post on Sundays), all his trains set to rigid schedules...

That same England let his Wizarding community have a platform _nine and three quarters_.

"You couldn't have just given them the thirteenth?" The teasing started as they were leaving the house and continued until they were already at King's Cross station in London. England's temper was worth razing when his youthful face had no way to control the furious red blush creeping up his neck, flashing over his ears, and leaving him white-lipped and on the verge of whipping around and punching Feliciano in the face.

Without their respective charms in place, Feliciano might have been afraid of that punch, but it was a lot like teasing Germany: no matter how angry England got, he either wouldn't have the heart to hurt him or he'd try and get stopped by someone else. Someone like Scotland.

"Alright, we're here. Now get on with it I don't want a scene." Sadly, Scotland only brought them as far as the platform itself. He traded one last bit of snark with England about work matters, said goodbye, and before Feliciano could turn around and answer him the other nation was gone.

"That didn't take long." A little confused but not upset to see him leave so quickly, Feliciano just followed England through the crowds. There was white steam rolling off the great red body of the Hogwarts Express and clouding the platform as wizards and witches scurried around with trunks and suitcases. Strings of younger siblings following students and parents, owls hooting over the prevalent hiss of the train's steaming cries, cats yowling and more than a few cries of _'Don't forget your-!'_ and _'For the last time, behave yourself!'_.

"He doesn't want to be recognized, you know." Their luggage was taken and stowed by a kindly old wizard wearing a blue conductor's suit whose white was beard parted and combed like a heart as he smiled and sent them on their way to the doors, whisking Itabby's carrier away somewhere with the other animals. There was no one else to say goodbye to on the plaform. Feliciano had said his farewells in Paris, England and Scotland were too proud for things like that. "I'm quite safe looking like this, but Scotland? There are veterans in this crowd."

"Like Potter?" Whose first name escaped him at the moment, but Feliciano knew he had the surname right.

The inside of the Hogwarts Express was a lot like any other train, if a bit wider on the inside than it should have been from the outside. Old carpets with nondescript patterns, beige walls, brass knobs on compartment doors- one of which shrieked when England tried opening it. The sound made both of them jump back before they heard teenage girls cackling behind the screen, and remembering that they were so small again when a pair of sixteen year old boys walked right over them. Feliciano found himself grabbing England's hand and restlessly searching the train car for any compartment that wasn't already full of students.

"Right then, let's go through everything one last time." Finding an abandoned one was a relief, and Feliciano was embarrassed by how hard it was to get up on the seat with his tiny legs. England seemed to think he was in charge, but since there was nothing better to do except peer out the window at the crowded station platform, Feliciano sat up straighter and answered.

"My name is Feliciano Vargas from House Vargas in Rome. My older brother works for the Italian ministry and he thinks Hogwarts is a waste of time, but, your family thinks it's good for me to be here!"

"Yes, meanwhile... There's every reason to believe _someone_ at Hogwarts will recognize the name Kirkland, so if I end up getting pressured about it at all I'll simply say I'm a foster of theirs."

"With the same first name as the one in London?" A little more teasing just to get further under England's skin, and the way his lips twisted and he tried to snarl across the compartment at him.

"Arthur is a fine English name. Good stock. Never met an Arthur I didn't like."

It only took about another ten minutes before the loud scream of a steam whistle signaled their departure. Feliciano watched the crowds fade away as the train heaved itself from the platform and began to chug along in a blur of city buildings and London sunlight that faded much faster than it probably should have.

England looked like he was about to ask a question when their compartment door suddenly rattled open, but then froze half-way through with a startled looking boy and girl standing out in the hall.

"Oh- sorry." The boy's hair looked like an absolute mess, maybe he'd forgotten to comb the black mop back into place when he woke up that morning, but the girl behind him had her long red locks neatly tied back behind her head. The boy was the one who'd opened the door, and he tried to close it without another word when the girl reached past him and held it open for a moment, poking her head in to get a look at them and asking the obvious question:

"May we come in? The whole train's positively bursting."

For whatever reason, Feliciano decided to take point from England, who was looking at him with the exact same expression. They were off to a good start then.

"Of course you can, my-" Maybe the kids didn't hear the tone England used, but Feliciano did and he jumped up right away, making sure to give England a good kick before he could say call them darlings or dears. They were all supposed to be the same age, right? No room for grandfatherly greetings here.

"Ve! Come right in! More people means more fun!"

The childrens' names were Albus Potter and Rose Weasley. Only the first surname meant anything to Feliciano, but he couldn't help but stare at the girl trying to remember where he'd heard Weasley before.

Ah-! The old wizard from England's office?

"My brother James and our friend Teddy kicked us out of their compartment..." Albus had a quiet way about him, he didn't seem like he wanted to look up at any of them as he stared either out the window or at his hands in his lap. "They're both in second year, but they put a Gryffindor Only charm on the door."

"Gryffindor?" Feliciano repeated.

"One of the four houses." England explained, and that seemed to brighten the Weasley girl up all at once. She was sitting next to Feliciano while Albus was across from him and next to England. She'd stared right at him every time Feliciano had spoken so far, but now finally came up with something to say to him.

"Where are you from, Feliciano?" Ah, the English accent was cute but it was making him regret a choice made almost two and a half thousand years ago. There was hard _'z'_ sound working its way into the middle of his name whenever any of England's children tried saying it properly. "Someplace far away, I imagine?"

"Si, I came from Roma!" All it took was a little bit of unnecessary Italian in his sentence to get England glaring at him. Feliciano making a face with his tongue out and fingers pulling at his eyes only made England's temper worsen until his face was completely red.

"Idiot."

"He doesn't like it when I speak in Italian." Feliciano snickered, kicking his feet where his legs were too short to reach the floor.

"No, I don't mind that!" Putting England on the defensive was so fun and easy sometimes, it was amazing he ever got anywhere at politics. "I mind you pretending you suddenly don't know your English anymore! _Roma-_ honestly!"

Albus was laughing a little bit under his breath, opening up enough in his own way that Feliciano didn't feel like tearing into a linguistics debate he was sure he would win.

"Do you know about the four houses then?" Rose was good for bringing the conversation back around to her original point, and Feliciano was comfortable saying he couldn't remember anything except the names- bar one exception, of course.

"Slytherin seems interesting." This was the wrong thing to say. Albus and his cousin both flinched and made strange faces when he made the comment, the boy looked like something had set his stomach off, and the girl sniffed the air quietly like she could smell something foul.

"Slytherin's alright I suppose, but it's not exactly a nice place." Oh? "I mean, I don't know first-hand, but I remember what my mother and father always said about it."

"James says awful things about Slytherins... I heard two of them even _died_ last year."

When the silence settled after Albus's softly spoken words, Feliciano looked around for the source of pain in his hand and found his own fingernails digging into his skin. England was watching him too, so he tried to put a good smile on his face and keep what he was feeling inside. He wanted to talk about why the cross under his shirt felt so cold against his skin, but not with children like these. He needed someone who had _known_ them, not known _of them_.

"So you two don't want to be in Slytherin then?" He asked.

"Our family has always been Gryffindor on both sides!" Rose declared cheerfully, tapping one long pale finger against her lips for a moment as she thought, rolling her eyes like she was remembering something silly and then admitting: "My dad will be so mad if I don't get into Gryffindor, but mum said Ravenclaw's a wonderful house too."

"Gryffindor, I hope..." Albus answered quietly, and England was nodding to him as if it was the only answer that made sense to the nation. Albus was the son of a famous hero, it wasn't that big a leap to make.

"What about you, Vargas?" He expected England to give his own answer first. They hadn't really talked about it before now; there had been too much to worry about just getting into the school at all, nevermind being sorted. "Put any thought into it?"

"Whichever one will help me protect what's most important, I guess." His answer was vague, but it felt right when he said it and his smile relaxed a little bit. The two children they'd apparently made friends with were happy with his answer too.

"That sounds like a very Gryffindorish thing to say." Rose applauded, and maybe she could already see the four of them dressed in the same red and gold robes.

England's laugh made both of them jump and look at him.

"Vargas's too cowardly for a house like that!"

"Ve~ you just have a short memory." Very short.

"You'd be better off in Hufflepuff, I think. Have you ever tried taking something from an angry badger?"

"You should be careful about saying things like that." Rose was a lot more talkative than her cousin, and Feliciano felt a worrying tingle when she seemed to jump on the defensive before England's badger comment really settled in. For her information, Feliciano _had_ once seen someone take something from a badger, and Prussia had needed three days to grow his fingers back afterwards. "If you don't mind yourself you'll end up in Slytherin before you know it."

"So?" England had a more colourful response to make, Feliciano went for the bare minimum.

"Well he should..." And his rebuttal seemed to cause a break in Rose's mind, because she just blinked and stared at him like she didn't know what he'd just said. "He should just..."

The door saved her from answering by sliding open again, and this time there was another shocked young face waiting on the other side that panicked and tried to disappear before Rose found her voice again.

"Scorpius Malfoy?" The boy was short and very thin, his skin pale and tight like he'd forgotten that young children were usually softer and baby-ish. He looked almost terrified when his name was called and it was just another surname ringing bells in Feliciano's head. He knew that one too!

"Rose Weasley," but then he tried to escape again and Feliciano had a brilliant idea.

"Arthur Kirkland!" He shouted, England stared at him and the boy at the door was confused.

"Feli...ciano Vargas?" England stuttered back.

"And Albus Potter!" Albus looked like he wanted to crawl under his seat. They were all looking at Feliciano now, which was much better than having everyone stare at their shoes. "There, now that everybody's been introduced, why don't we play a game of something? Did you bring your chess set, Arthur?" Feliciano didn't even know if England owned one, so didn't wait for an answer because he'd already seen one. "Scorpius? Scorpius! That looks like a brand new board! I haven't played chess in so long, can I see yours? Come sit down!"

"Definitely Hufflepuff." England snickered under his breath, but then he got right on board with encouraging the painfully awkward children around them to at least let the new boy Scorpius sit down between Rose and Feliciano with a polished redwood chess-board in his lap, the case opening up to show the velvet compartments for the white and black pieces on the reverse side of the actual board.

"My, um... My father gave it to me. And your name was..?" There were tense pauses and awkward glances for all, but Feliciano was more interested at poking the living pieces out of their places and listening to Scorpius tell him not to-

"_Ow!_"

"I just told you the white Knight has a temper!" and a tiny sword that was actually very sharp, which meant Feliciano sat out of the first round of chess so he could suck on the little cut next to his nail and wait for a chance to play with the black set instead. Each living piece was glossy and freshly enchanted, the weight of the resin making him rethink the material as England showed the other three how to randomly assign order with their wand tips all aglow, white or red to choose which piece set.

Going easy on the children was necessary, but not too easy- they weren't muggle children who had a million other games and electronics to keep them busy. Wizard's chess was still a staple pass-time in most magical households and England seemed baffled when Scorpius took his queen when the nation wasn't even looking.

Feliciano didn't do a good enough job covering his laughter as the white queen fainted and was dragged in distress across the board by a bishop and tossed to the floor. He sadly wore a shock of green hair on the front of his head for the next hour until England finally removed the curse he said he learned from a magazine clipping.

Rose destroyed Albus in only a few short moves and Feliciano let her chase him around the board for twenty minutes with England incessantly prodding him in the back with his wand to either end the game or just let her win. The nations avoided playing against each other, and Scorpius and Rose were still playing the final round of chess as the snack cart rolled by and the sky outside the train began to grow darker.

"All-in then, everybody pay the same amount and we'll see what we can get." A handful of bronze coins from Feliciano's pockets met the same number from everyone else, and some sweet chocolate frogs and stuffed pumpkin cakes were shared as awkwardly as the discarded chessboard had been. If the next six years were going to be this tense and awful, Feliciano was going to have to bully his brother into coming with him so he'd have someone to talk to that wasn't as stuffy as England.

Probably the brightest moment of the trip was when Albus groaned loudly from his side of the compartment, half a chocolate frog wriggling in his mouth, before he took the card from the candy wrapper and handed it to Rose so she could laugh at him.

"You always get Uncle Harry! I don't think you've ever found a single Dumbledore or Nicholas Flamel."

"What I really want is a Headmistress McGonagall." Feliciano could admit that his taste in sweets was limited and he didn't eat his entire share, but he was mimicking England and looking for the black school robe he'd bought and stuffed in a small backpack when he heard something even better come from Scorpius Malfoy.

"Do you want this one then? I- uh, I have two already."

Feliciano hadn't seen England looked so pleased in months, but he covered it up well by pretending there were wrinkles in his black robe that needed straightening out. When they felt the train beginning to slow down and the loud chatter of older students moving as shadows outside the compartment door, the nerves from the three children felt like they started giving way to the giddy, terrifying excitement of a new adventure, and he was fine with fading into the background as they started talking a bit more and chattering with less anxiety about houses and families.

"Is it true Professor Longbottom makes students climb the Whomping Willow in their first day?"

"I hope not! My father would never let me hear the end of it." Rose's next words made both her cousin and Scorpius wail out-loud:

"Uncle Harry once told me he and Professor Malfoy had detention in the Forbidden Forest." And _that_ was where Feliciano had heard Scorpius' surname before. He shared a glance with England that tried to explain how he finally understood what everyone meant about England's Wizarding Elite all attending the same school.

"Ready, Vargas?"

"Hogwarts! Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry! Next stop, Hogwarts!"

"Your robe's on backwards, Kirkland."

* * *

**Originally I wanted Feli and Arthur to be a year behind Rose/Albus/Scorpius, but I can't count since summer of 2017 is actually a few months BEFORE the Deathly Hallows' epilogue, whoops. It doesn't change anything though and it makes it easier to actually show those characters right at the beginning, so I'm not gonna bother changing it.**

**Albus and Rose will fade out a little, Scorpius will stick around and hopefully not be too annoying!**


	7. The Sorting Hat

**Destiny of the Chosen, Brave, Lily and Severus**

* * *

_**Snakeskins**_

The Sorting

Watching Potters, Malfoys and Weasleys behave civilly for four hours on the train made Arthur's day and night complete. He was walking on clouds just thinking of the letter he'd send off to that idiot Scotland tomorrow and the sort of leap forward it would mean was taking place between the Pureblood families.

Granted yes, they were only eleven years old each of them, and they'd been supervised the entire time by two nations, but they'd still _got along_ by the end of it.

They even traded _frog cards_ by the end of it, because Albus Potter left the train with a Minerva McGonagall card in his robe pocket while they disembarked and followed the crowd looking for a sign of which way to go.

Arthur couldn't help himself, and by the looks of things neither could Italy. They both lingered a little ways behind, quick to snatch anyone else with all-black robes and help shuttle them along after the deep, throaty call of a distant figure carrying a lantern high over their heads to lead the first-years to their destination. When Arthur caught the smell of cold fresh water and dank wet earth, he knew what to expect when the lights began to multiply and the first years found themselves crowded against the water's edge.

"Swim?" Italy asked in a soft voice behind him, but a familiar voice had found them again and Rose Weasley said she could see something coming closer across the water. Arthur pushed Italy ahead to get him to choose a boat as the vessels ground up against the shore, not even sure if he wanted to go with him exactly before being pulled in by the idiot who was waving Rose and someone else to join them.

That someone else was Scorpius Malfoy, who Arthur scooted over to make room for on his narrow little bench in the rocking boat. He knew Italy was looking for paddles as their lamp flared a little brighter to say it was ready to move, so Arthur kicked one foot up to brace the other nation's back when the boat launched itself and nearly threw him off his seat.

"You really are a fool."

"Says you." What a perfect come-back for an eleven year old _ninny_. He was certainly playing the part well.

The river ride was completely silent after Rose hushed them with a finger over her pink lips, blue eyes glowing sharply in the darkness that swallowed their boat and the ghost lights following it from the other vessels streaming across the water. Malfoy's eyes were positioned dead ahead, and Arthur looked up, straining to catch sight of something that became all too obvious a moment later.

Hogwarts, despite its atrocious name, was a majestic beast draped over the mountain's peak, golden windows blazing with light as the September air grew colder. The world of all-hour texts and impending meeting deadlines seemed to fall away under the curtain of enchantments that settled over them like a warm embrace, welcoming them home.

Or rather, welcoming him home until they realized England was not Scotland. There was a sting in the air that followed a few moments later, lingering on his skin before flaring up and burning itself out when the magic deemed him not a threat. Italy had a much harder run with it, a noise of pain escaping his nose as he doubled-over in the front seat for a few minutes until Weasley and Malfoy both noticed him.

He played it off as nausea from the boat, a ridiculous thing for the former Republic of Venice to try and use as an excuse. But eventually Hogwarts accepted his presence, suspicions raised to protect the school from invasion or foreign powers, but satisfied by the lack of ill intentions or black magic cloaking the other nation. By the time Italy seemed over the worst of it, they were drifting up to the lit stone platform at the base of the castle and the mountain, and he was able to get his balance with the same ease Arthur did and make the leap from boat to dock, both of them turning around to offer the other two passengers a hand.

They weren't left waiting on the platform for very long. The very tiny form of the Deputy Headmaster soon formed from the crowd of waiting first years, but Arthur was surprised by how few of them there were: less than thirty new students for an entire year at Hogwarts? Maybe he would have to hold off on that letter to Scotland for just a little bit.

Flitwick was a man scarcely four feet tall and with a white mane of grey hair that left the top of his head bald and let his beard join the rest of it, golden spectacles sitting on the end of his long nose as his colourful robes were blazoned with a glittering star-pattern woven over blue velvet. His speech was worth listening to but not repeating, and he led them along into the castle and up the sweeping staircases with a kind smile and easy nature that probably gave the children around them a good dose of calm.

The great hall, when they reached it, was noise chanting and banging loudly behind sealed doors, young voices raised high in school spirit and trying to out-do the other houses. This part, at least, Arthur found reassuring.

When the chanting died all at once and silence swept back down, the doors up and swung open slow and smooth and without a breath of sound. Even their footsteps were muffled as the first years seemed too scared to move in anything less than a tight, creeping bunch. How Italy and Arthur wound up at the head of the group was a mystery, but they were brought along down the main aisle between the four long house tables. Red and gold banners hung high over the table furthest to Arthur's left as he walked, then gold and black, and on his right came the blue and bronze of Ravenclaw and finally the silver and green of Slytherin. Whether or not Italy noticed didn't matter, because they all came to a halt when Flitwick held up his wand, and with an extravagant flurry and a gust of wind, the sorting hat appeared.

A tiny wooden stool probably as old as the school itself didn't form out of nothing, but it looked like it did and as the hat spun in the air, it landed with an ordinary plop with its ratty edges and patched surface. Arthur barely remembered to look up and try to find the Headmistress at the teacher's table directly in front of them, but all he saw was Flitwick and a scroll, and he heard the first name called in a huff.

"Abott, Erica!" Alphabetical order, of course. First years were simply expected to sit and wait as a young girl with bouncing brown hair took a seat on the little stool and let Flitwick set the ratty old hat on her hair. After a tense five seconds of silence, the hat gave a shrill scream:

"_GRYFFINDOR!"_

The table furthest to the left exploded with cheers and screams, thoroughly embarrassing the poor child who pulled the hat off her head and hurried across the stone floor to join her new housemates.

"That's all there is to it?" Italy murmured, leaning in close and keeping his voice down so the noise of the next sorting helped muffle the words.

"_RAVENCLAW!"_

"A bit more complicated for you and I." Arthur explained, trying to think back to the last time, ages ago, when he'd worn that hat for entirely different reasons. "No sense explaining, you'll experience it soon enough."

"_HUFFLEPUFF!"_

"It's not going to hurt like the lake did, right?" Arthur laughed under his breath a little when he pieced together Italy's question, shaking his head until he noticed Italy rubbing his wrist awkwardly through his robe sleeve. Curious, Arthur coaxed his hand up and tugged the sleeve out of the way just enough to see an angry red blush spread over Feliciano's fingers and up under the robe. Looking up quickly, the same red was chaffing at the collar of his shirt.

"Are you alright?" He mouthed the concern over another bellow from the hat- Italy couldn't answer in the sudden silence, so they both stood there looking at each other and waiting for the next scream. That was when someone swatted Arthur on the arm and, affronted, he turned to see who it was.

He found Rose Weasley standing there giving him a sour frown, not sure what the child was so upset about until he heard the silence continuing to hang and spun back around to see Flitwick with eyebrows raised, hat in hand which he dangled like a silent bell.

Oh.

Kirkland.

"We'll meet again." He whispered, then quickly stepped free from the shrunken group and walked as fast as he could without running to reach the stool. It was rather like preparing to give a speech at any of their Nation-human councils. So many unfamiliar eyes watching him nod an apology to the Deputy Headmaster and accept a happy nod and gesture to sit from the old wizard.

The hat was soft old fabric, and when it came down over his hair it needed a moment to settle and sink down properly over his eyes and ears.

Silence again, he was rather getting tired of it, and then finally a raspy voice whispering just behind his ear.

"Many years since a mind like this sat under me..." Thinking was as good as speaking at a time like this- "So why don't you tell me why you've come back, or should I dust about for the answer myself?"

Oh, but they'd be here all night if he opened his mind up completely. The answer the hat wanted was handed over as easily as a roll of parchment from one friendly hand into another.

"Minds like yours have a strange understanding of friendly. You want to protect Hogwarts?" Arthur wanted to protect the students. "I imagine so will your friend. Such a noble reason, perhaps Gryffindor this time? No... Hah! You want your brother to exploit his, you think you can save the school and drag someone like you down under your control. Nations never change."

Could they not remain a bit more on topic? Nations were always ambitious and cunning, yes, they always placed themselves first and were quick to make and break deals on a whim depending on their masters. But what about Kirklands? Where did Arthur Kirkland belong?

"You've changed since last we met, I know exactly where you will go today..." excellent, get on with it then.

"_SLYTHERIN!"_

Off came the hat with a tug of the professor's hand and Arthur stood up without hesitation, a bit taken aback by how much noise washed over him. He was mulling the choice as he walked, understanding why but curious about how much the other three houses might have been competing. Arthur wasn't terribly sure why he heard noise from the Ravenclaw table as he passed it on his way to the cheering Slytherines, but he was bundled up and hoisted to a seat with minimal fuss, his clothes already beginning to change as a green and silver rope started weaving its way along the collar of his robe, the Slytherin's silver badge already soaking through the black fabric over his heart like mercury.

A few more names went by and Slytherin table went silent, a bit of ambient chatter and one or two half-meant questions coming his way about where he was from and what a strange name wasn't there a Kirkland up in the ministry somewhere? Oh well, nevermind, here was another one destined for Slytherin.

"Malfoy, Scorpius!"

He was at least the third generation of his family to be sorted, and Arthur watched as the nervous boy with his chess-set swallowed hard when the hat was placed over his head. The sorting hat hummed for a moment and then gave a little laugh like it was being tickled, then announced:

"_SLYTHERIN!"_

Arthur finally had a chance to look up at the Head-table as the professors in their best robes clapped politely for each sorted student. The noise, again, was much higher for a Slytherin than for the Hufflepuff that had come a few minutes before, but whatever was going on didn't seem to faze Draco Malfoy, because the school's healer was clapping rather quickly and his eyes were fixed on his son as Scorpius fled the yelling and practically jumped to the table, immediately slamming himself down with an upperclassman's help onto the seat next to Arthur.

"That- that was awful..."

"Careful, la- ah, you don't want to drop it!" It being Scorpius' chess set, which he was clutching to his heart like he was afraid his ribs were going to burst open and all his insides come tumbling out. "What was so hard?"

"It- It started to say b-badger to me! Badger! I'm a Malfoy, my grandfather would never speak to me again if I-"

"_GRYFFINDOR!"_

"No surprise there either." It wasn't Arthur who interrupted Scorpius because both of them turned around to see the new Gryffindor. Albus Potter was hard to spot however: he appeared to be flat on his back behind the stool with Flitwick chuckling and helping him up to his feet where he'd collapsed from relief.

There were only a few more frightened children and one nation left waiting for their names, and that number continued to shrink until it was only Italy and Rose Weasley left, V and W. They were saying something to each other and Weasley looked like she was quite pleased with whatever it was, they even shook hands. Arthur expected at any second for Italy to try and sneak a friendly kiss up onto her cheek, but Flitwick's voice interrupted whatever they were agreeing to and "Vargas, Feliciano" went running up to the stool.

Arthur looked up and caught sight of Headmistress McGonagall, resplendent in black and indigo robes, go quite tense when his name was called. If Arthur had to guess, when he looked back at Italy where he was chatting happily up at Flitwick with a ridiculous smile on his face, Gryffindor or Hufflepuff seemed tied as possibilities. The idiot was still talking as Flitwick laughed and simply dropped the hat on his head.

"_SLYTHERIN!"_

"What?"

It- it didn't even stop to _think_. Arthur wasn't even sure it came to rest properly on his oblivious face before it shouted the name and then fell unceremoniously into Italy's lap.

Him? Slytherin? Yes he was a nation but-

And then he heard it. That was when Arthur Kirkland finally heard why there was so much noise when Slytherins were sorted, because Italy wasn't dazzled the way Arthur was been or run the way Scorpius and the others had fled into the safety of their house table. Italy just sat there and took up the hat to have a look at it, offering it back amicably to Flitwick before even bothering to stand up.

The Gryffindor table, almost impossible to see where it was hidden by yelling Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs across the hall, was going absolutely insane and not even all the yelling and cheering from Slytherin could drown out three other tables full of students.

Slytherin could yell all they liked, they couldn't cover up the sound of _booing_.

Because Italy was still standing there, and like the idiot he was he almost looked like he was about to wave to the other tables before he saw their faces, faces Arthur couldn't see because they were turned away from him and focused on the first year who'd just been declared a member of the House of Snakes.

"_Snakeskin! Snakeskin!_" they were shouting, or just bellowing deep in their throats with boos and hisses, laughing in the kind of mocking, awful way that only children knew how to do. And Italy, in the middle of it, seemed shocked.

"Oh God, why is he just waiting there?" An older student from Slytherin stood up and Arthur didn't have time to look for a Prefect badge or anything else on her robes, but she was up and immediately earned hisses from the Ravenclaw table before Italy did the last thing the rest of them could have expected.

He held a hand out to Professor Flitwick and nodded his head with something unheard. Confused, the Deputy Headmaster gave the sorting hat back to him and Italy, one of the world's most cowardly nations shrunk down to an eleven-year-old child, held the hat up with both hands and placed it back on his head without hesitation.

The result was exactly what circumstances called for.

"_**BY ORDER OF SALAZAR SLYTHERIN, ONE OF FOUR FOUNDERS OF HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDY**__" _an unholy voice, centuries unheard, came roaring down from the depths of the hat to blaze down Italy's robes and instantly stitch the green and silver badge to his clothes while he stood rigidly trying to keep upright. "_**THIS STUDENT IS CLAIMED FOR THE HOUSE OF SLYTHERIN, AND LET ANY WHO OPPOSE RAISE WAND AGAINST HEADMASTER AND HEAD OF HOUSE."**_

There was silence after the thundering fury of the hat's voice, green and silver sparks showering off its ratty folds as it tumbled off Italy's head a second time and laid there like a rag on the floor. Italy himself was visibly trembling, and the effort it took to get down on one knee to retrieve the hat, he wound up with both knees and a hand on the floor to keep him up before Flitwick tried to lend a hand again.

He was waved off, the hat was handed back to him with another polite nod from Italy that led to a painfully innocent wave in Rose Weasley's direction where she was petrified all alone at the end of the hall. He took two heavy steps towards Slytherin table, which was as silent as the rest of them, then stopped and quietly shuffled around to face the teacher's table.

Headmistress McGonagall looked like death itself had just sat down beside her, Professor Malfoy's face was absolutely frozen with a white mask of what was either rage or humiliation, and the rest of the staff were either staring in shock or absolutely mortified looking down at the rest of the school.

Italy bowed like he was saying sorry for something and trying to excuse himself. The Slytherin Prefect unhinged her legs and swept forward to quickly get an arm around him, a student he assumed was either the Head Girl or Head Boy of Slytherin house quickly rushing up to help steer Feliciano Vargas, shell-shocked and dizzy, to a seat Scorpius immediately opened up between Arthur and himself.

"Good God-"

"Are you alright?"

"Vargas? Is he pureblood?"

"Does it _matter?_"

"Give him some space!"

Someone's wand produced a stream of water into one of the silver goblets resting on the table, and the same Prefect was given the job of tipping Italy's head back and making him swallow. When he drank Arthur could see that the red rash he'd been so worried about at the start of the sorting was completely gone, probably blasted away by the Sorting Hat's magic.

"I..." Italy sounded like he'd just run a mile or more, but before Arthur felt himself getting too carried away with his concern, he remembered that these jinxed bodies of theirs weren't nearly as resistant as they were meant to be. "I guess the school... does like me a little..." He couldn't quite keep his eyes open as he spoke, smiling up at the Prefect who was lecturing several other students to keep their seats and stay quiet as the sorting ceremony finally ended.

"_GRYFFINDOR!"_

Italy didn't even try looking up and Arthur didn't bother with it either, he was more worried about keeping Italy from falling over onto the floor where his head was lolling to one side.

"Hogwarts: A History... a good read..."

"You really do sound terrible."

"I'm fine."

"Do you need me to get my- eh, I mean, Professor Malfoy?" Scorpius was a good child from what Arthur had seen so far, stumbling over the words a little before Arthur noticed that the Slytherins standing behind them hadn't moved yet. The Prefect and Head Boy were still there, not even looking down at them, but facing the Ravenclaw table behind them. They were... acting like a wall.

"_I intended to begin this year's Start of Term feast with a short word on the tragedy felt here at the end of last year."_ The Headmistress's voice was far away, but Arthur tried looking up when he unconsciously let Italy just tip over and rest his head on his shoulder, an arm behind his friend to keep him from falling while Scorpius looked with the rest of them up to the Head-table. _"But I see now that the words I chose would be deeply inappropriate. So I will settle to say this: the Sorting Hat speaks only the truth. If any student, Prefect or First Year, Charms Protégé or Quidditch All-star, takes it upon themselves to monitor who is brought into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, then you have received your warning. You will not only face the Head of House of the student you have wronged, but myself as well. That is my first and final word on the matter."_

Arthur was not so sure about that.

"_Classes begin at nine sharp tomorrow morning. For now, let us commence with our feast!"_

It seemed he would not be writing to Scotland tomorrow after all.


	8. Slytherin House

**Thank you so much for the wonderful reviews!**

* * *

_**Snakeskins**_

Slytherin House

The welcoming feast at Hogwarts was good enough for Feliciano tonight. He couldn't really taste the food and only made sure to eat enough to keep himself going and get a good night's sleep. The roaring nausea from the Sorting Hat's screaming had faded long before the crippling pain in his gut from what had caused the hat to go so wild in the first place.

"Alright! First years follow me! All together now!"

There were two Prefects for every house, one girl and one boy, and it was the boy who called for first years to get up and start walking out of the great hall. They left before the other houses started getting up from their meals and Feliciano chose not to wonder why.

Aside from himself, England and Scorpius, there was another boy by the name of Charles Higgs who seemed too dense for conversation after eating his way through half the table and yawning loudly as they left. A small girl with pale skin and flowing black hair was named Eliza Gamp, and Feliciano didn't hear the other two girls' names before he was too busy trying not to trip down the shifting staircases as they climbed down from the great hall and around confusing bends and turns through the castle.

"If you're in Slytherin house then it means you're destined for great things." The Prefect was a tall young man with dark skin and strong features, even if he did seem to lack any real interest in them as they followed his fast steps. "The other houses? Simply jealous. They have to latch onto one or two great heroes to make their mark, but Slytherins? Every one of us can make something of ourselves."

Maybe he was coming up with excuses for what had happened back there, Feliciano just wanted his hands to relax so he'd stop hurting his palms. The cross under his shirt felt heavy and cold, but maybe he was just too tired for this much stress. As much as he did love to relax and sleep when it pleased him, this little body was getting to be a bit frustrating.

"What does snakeskin mean, Zabini?" One of the girls asked the question. England was hovering a little too close as they passed through another door and Feliciano woke up at the feeling of cold, damp air touching his skin. He didn't think he liked the stale scent of the air as the gold glow of the previous passage ways dimmed to a murky glow, but the Prefect kept going and the rest of them had to follow. Gamp was the one who asked the question.

Zabini, the Prefect, just gave a harsh laugh as he continued marching them past flickering white candles and musty wet stones. This place was going to be awful in winter...

"The other houses think it's an insult! Do you know what's so bad about shedding your scars and discarding things that don't fit who you are anymore? Constant renewal is what Slytherins are about. Reinventing yourself and getting rid of the old you: like a snake shedding its skin."

At least their Prefect had house pride, because Feliciano just wasn't feeling it anymore as the passage dipped down steeply and the distant drip of water made him shiver.

Maybe Rose Weasley had been right, maybe Feliciano should have hoped for Hufflepuff with its dormitory right by the kitchens instead of being open to whatever the hat decided.

They stopped all at once at a little alcove in the wall, nothing resting in it until Feliciano forced his eyes to focus on the green stones and what almost, vaguely, looked like the body of a snake scratched into the stones with its head raised up and two little black holes resting there like eyes.

"We use a password system here in Slytherin, sharing it with students outside the house can get your tongue hexed, or worse: we won't tell you the new one."

That was a joke, right?

"Rosetti!"

The name woke Feliciano up properly as the two black holes flared with green light. The faded scratches began to writhe like a proper snake in the wall, its body rising up until it began to split open, the darkness forming a doorway that consumed the alcove and let the first years enter two at a time.

At least someone remembered...

Through the narrow doorway the space suddenly increased, and the pervasive cold fell away. It wasn't damp in here where a vaulted ceiling was illuminated by round green lamps hanging from chains, and there were even windows along one far away wall that gave off a bright green glow. There was probably more light during the day because all Feliciano could really see were the green leather couches ready for reclining and study.

"This way, first year boys on the left, girls down the right." They walked along the dim space and followed the Prefect's instructions to pass under two arches, a soft hum of magic telling them there was a spell over the passages: probably to keep boys and girls from sneaking around. Zabini went with the boys, leading them down a small corridor with seven rooms and taking them straight to the one at the very end.

"You'll keep the same room for seven years here at Hogwarts unless you fail. The names on the plaque will change every year to show where you belong." Which, if Feliciano understood correctly, meant that the four beds that were hidden behind the door had once been...

"I call the window!" Sleepy Higgs went in first and quickly took the bed by the only glowing window in the long stone chamber, the candles in the walls brightening up pleasantly as he passed. There were already trunks and suitcases against one wall, and Feliciano was surprised when he heard a familiar meow and peered in after England to see his cat curled up on one of the pillows, second from the door, and completely content to remain exactly where it was as Scorpius drifted in to take a look around.

"Ve, Mister Prefect, Sir."

"Zabini, Vargas. Pascal Zabini." His name almost sounded Italian, but even if Feliciano had the strength to try he knew there wouldn't be much of a connection between them.

"Zabini, which bed was Rosetti's?"

His question caused the older student's proud face to weaken a little. His age came out from under his polished little badge and at sixteen or seventeen years old, Feliciano was impressed with him for swallowing his nerves and trying to hang on to his tact.

"How do you know about that, Vargas?"

"My family was close to the Rosettis. After last year they're all gone now, but I'd still like to remember them."

Zabini was quiet and the other three students were listening too. Maybe Scorpius knew something from his father, but Feliciano wasn't sure if Gibbs had any idea what Feliciano was asking about. Finally, the prefect just looked straight over his head and pointed at the bed with the drowsy cat.

"Is that your familiar, Vargas?"

Feliciano checked again.

"Yes sir."

"As far as I know that bed _was_ his, but now it's yours."

"Thank you, sir."

"Get to bed now, all of you! There will be time for breakfast tomorrow morning, but then you've got your first Herbology lesson. Rest up, you're going to need it!"

* * *

Slytherin beds were made of stone, but that was like judging Gryffindor beds for being made of wood. The grey stone bodies were decorated with snake tails and fat green emeralds that lit up gently when the person laying on the blankets was still awake, meaning that between the beds and the window there was always just enough light to see by if you rolled over in the middle of the night for no reason.

There were also curtains, sheer things that didn't seem very useful until properly unfurled. They were perfectly opaque when pulled down, and an enchantment on the glossy silk meant that they gave off an impressive mount of light inside while remaining completely dark on the outside.

With his jinxed body begging for sleep and the curtains closed and glowing around him, Arthur drafted his first letter home to Scotland, making sure to detail the good and bad and not caring about splotches or scribbles on the paper. He'd re-write it again tomorrow most likely, and probably send it off using a school owl by the end of the week.

Another awful plague of a jinxed body, beyond the hundreds of awful limitations to endurance and respect, was an awful dependence on sleep that Arthur as a rule simply wasn't used to, and which meant he regretted his letter-writing the next morning when he was woken up by the same prefect as last night rapping loudly on the dormitory door.

"First years! Up! Time to get up!" He didn't come barging in thank goodness, but Arthur wasn't the only one looking bleary-eyed and exhausted as he splashed cold water on his face from a little sink in the dormitory corner and pulled on his school uniform underneath his Slytherin robes.

Italy recovered first, the wretched boy, followed almost immediately by Scorpius who was going through his bag in a panic when Arthur stepped into the common room. Italy was busy stroking his cat and simultaneously whisking the cat-hairs off his robe with his wand, and Higgs was still only half-dressed behind Arthur.

"Sleep well?" Arthur asked, receiving a sunny smile for his attention from Italy.

"We're under the lake, aren't we? I could hear the water last night and it was wonderful!" Arthur hadn't been listening, but he was looking forward to it if that was the case. "Have you looked at our classes yet?"

He hadn't, but Scorpius came over to them with anxiety running down his face, absolutely terrified of something or another as Italy offered up his schedule so they could all see. Higgs simply didn't bother.

"Herbology by the green houses,"

"Longbottom, oh, I hear he's awful...!"

"Really?" Arthur asked, suspicious of something like that as he looked Scorpius up and down before dismissing whatever was giving the boy the jitters. "You'd think a former member of Dumbledore's Army would be nice to students, especially first years."

"Professor Longbottom's Head of Gryffindor House." Yes, Arthur could see that happening. "But the professors had an awful row last night, somebody's saying the other houses are all at zero points this morning!"

"Points?" Feliciano piped up, and Arthur was beginning to find it ridiculous how many things he had to explain to him.

"All houses begin with fifty points at the start of the year, are you saying Slytherin has a headstart then?"

"Yes, and-" Scorpius was interrupted by the low grate of stones grinding against each other, and the house common room went quiet as a familiar wizard in long white robes edged with green stepped into the vaulted chamber. The light was much brighter this morning so it was easy to see Draco Malfoy's expression, something caught between troubled and vindicated.

"So this is where my students are hiding." He said the words almost kindly, but his eyes skipped over Scorpius rather than settle on him for even a moment. It was probably better that way. "First years are excused this morning, but the rest of you know better: either we eat together or not at all, I won't have a repeat of last night. We are Slytherins and we do not hide."

"Professor Malfoy!" One Slytherin yelled, a tall girl standing on the other side of the room from the first years. "Is it true the other houses lost all their points last night? On the day _before_ classes?"

"You can see for yourself in the great hall, but thank you for mentioning that Miss Harper: that's precisely why I'm here so early." And then Professor Malfoy went cold. In fact, his voice practically froze: "If I catch wind of any Slytherins taunting or provoking the other houses about last night, no matter how much they deserve it, I will personally remove the last of Slytherin's points myself. Is that understood?"

"Yes, professor."

"And don't pretend I won't know just because the infirmary is so far away, you'll come to fear me as much as Miss Norris if you aren't careful." Arthur fully believed him too, and they all mumbled _'yes professor'_ in unison.

"Very well, you have one hour to eat and hurry off to your classes. I won't tolerate tardiness on the first day, hurry up!"

Mandating that the whole house eat together seemed strange to Arthur. He hadn't attended Hogwarts in centuries, but he'd certainly dropped in and taken a look around from time to time over the years. While they were marching down to the great hall however, he finally lost his temper and just turned around and shook Scorpius until the boy babbled whatever was making him so anxious.

"I lost my ink well, I lost it and I can't find it anywhere, I-"

"Bloody hell then just take mine!" And stop with the wide eyed terror, there was no cause for it and Arthur didn't have the patience. Losing his temper on the first day was not a good way to begin an entire year of this charade, but at least it calmed Scorpius down enough that he could eat in peace.

Arthur's next challenge was Italy.

"You look miserable, _again._"

"If I knew what I was eating maybe I'd feel better."

"It's hashbrowns- don't make that face!"

"Is there even _salt_ on it?"

"Add salt, you twit!"

"What about garlic? Or sage? Do they have parsley in this country?"

"_Eat fruit then!"_

Arthur Kirkland's patience were right at their limit when, at the head of the seven First Years, he stomped and scowled his way down across the grounds to the school greenhouses. When they looked through the glass panes of Greenhouse Number One the lot of them stopped in a moment of confusion.

"What-"

"Is he already teaching?"

"We've still got five minutes!"

Arthur checked his watch, the charmed item keeping him in this tiny body, and there it was plain as day: 8:55.

"Maybe he's just giving them a talk like Professor Malfoy did for us?" Italy made the suggestion and Arthur hoped he was right, but when he pulled on the green house door it just rattled and didn't open. Impossible.

"Should we knock?" One of the girls asked, a haughty look on her face that Arthur appreciated as he balled up his fist and rapped hard on the glass.

The most he could see of the Professor was a tall man wrapped up in red, the details of his robes obscured by the warped nature of the glass. When he didn't seem to notice the noise, Arthur beat his fist on the door a second time, making sure to knock hard and fast.

Still nothing. Longbottom didn't even turn around.

"The professor said don't be late!" Three minutes of their time had gone when Italy nudged him out of the way, wand in hand which he tapped twice on the door knob and stated the magic word to unlock.

There was a gout of grey sparks from his wand's black tip, but then nothing.

"That's the Italian version, you have to use the English: Allohamora!"

"First of all, that's not English, it's Latin, and second-"

"Don't bicker, just make some noise!"

Five desperate children and two affronted nations all banging on the glass should have been more than enough noise to get the Gryffindors inside the greenhouse to turn around and just let them in. Instead, Eliza Gamp started crying, and Charles Higgs started yelling at Arthur as if this was somehow all his damned fault.

"What's goin' on 'ere?"

Arthur turned around to find himself in line with an impossibly tall person wrapped up under a shaggy coat made of at least three kinds of animal pelt, a pink umbrella held in a hand bigger than Arthur's adult head, and silvery, snowy white hair making up a beard and wild curls around a squashed face and large dark eyes.

Arthur couldn't remember the name of the Hogwarts groundskeeper, but he knew an honest soul when he met one.

"The door won't open!" Gamp wailed, Italy fluttering around her with the other two girls trying to get her to stop crying. "P-Professor M-M-Malfoy said d-don't be late but-!"

"Why would Neville go lockin' the door? Outta the way, boys." Arthur was brushed aside by one large hand, and a moment later there was the tell-tale rattle of the greenhouse's lock still holding firm. "He don't even lock it during lessons, that don't-"

Another tug, this time with an angry grunt.

"Why I oughta-"

A push this time, just in-case.

"Fine then."

And then the awful noise of twisted metal and shattering glass, as the door was ripped right off its hinges and a few screams from Gryffindor and Slytherin students alike led to the groundskeeper bending over and sticking his head in the greenhouse, presumably to smile at the affronted Wizard inside.

"Hagrid! What on earth are you doing!?"

"G'mornin, Professor Longbottom! Seems there's a bit o' trouble with the door! I'll fix it up late t'day, but for now here's the rest of your class."

They were ushered inside by a large hand and the mixed smell of fresh earth and old brandy, which was quickly overpowered by the mulch and life of the warm greenhouse air.

In front of them was a wizard much younger than most of the professors they'd seen so far except for Malfoy. He had quite the long face, his dark brown hair grown out and tied in a very short tail behind his head. His red robes were rather short, more like a tunic over black pants and what looked suspiciously like a pair of muggle gumboots. There was no gold to him until he moved, and there was a sparkle of swirling gold patterns buried under the red folds of his short sleeves and the thick buckle of his belt shone under a spray of garden soil. His hands and wrists were lost under thick brown gloves caked in dirt, and his wand was clearly visible at his belt along with several satchels and tools for work in the gardens.

He was mystified by what he'd just heard, looking down at the seven of them before lifting his eyes back up to Hagrid. He looked like he was asking if what he'd just been told was true, and when Hagrid didn't take it back, the professor remembered himself and swept a hand over several ceramic pots set up for the Slytherins to stand near.

"In that case, I think myself an honourable man." He looked over his shoulder where Arthur saw a massive sunflower standing in a pot, its brown face enchanted to look like the face of a clock. "Ten points to Slytherin, replacing the five I took for each minute of tardiness."

There was an uncomfortable squirm through the assembled gryffindors, most of them already wearing gloves and each one holding a pair of small pruning sheers in their hands. When Professor Longbottom turned back around, they all met his gaze evenly, especially Rose Weasley and the shy Albus Potter. Arthur was both pleased and disappointed that the culprit wasn't amongst them.

"When I find who's responsible for an immature prank like that, mark my words they'll find themselves neck-deep in Mandrake pots. Thank you, Hagrid."

"Always happy t' help, Professor."

So began their first day at Hogwarts.

* * *

**Hagrid be havin' none of your shit, Hogwarts. He may not like Slytherins but that doesn't mean he likes seeing young girls on their first day at school sitting on the grass crying while her classmates yell at each other.**

**According to the Wiki, by 2018 at least Hagrid was still groundskeeper at Hogwarts.**


	9. The Daily Lives of First Years

**Snakeskins Youtube Playlist.**

* * *

_**Snakeskins**_

The Daily Lives of First Years

Herbology with Gryffindor, History of Magic with Ravenclaw, Charms with Hufflepuff, and Potions with Gryffindor again.

That was three of their five days at Hogwarts, and Potions was the only class where it felt like the Slytherins collectively caught a break.

Almost a month into their studies at Hogwarts and Arthur finally watched Italy snap and lose his temper. And it wasn't about Rose Weasley and Albus Potter utterly refusing to so much as be caught standing near him in the hall, or the way she even hurtfully told him to his face in their second week to stop trying to talk to her. No, the Republic of Italy lost his temper for something else entirely.

"That's right! I have no idea what the Wizarding Council of 1441 was about!" He wasn't completely enraged, it took an act of God to get that sort of reaction out of him, but his was the kind of frustration that could only come from being repeatedly being talked down to for weeks by children who couldn't even write their own grocery lists. "Or who brokered the peace between the Giants and Wizards of Northumbria! I don't know when dragon hunts were banned in England or Scotland or Wales or Ireland because _I'M NOT BRITISH!"_

History of Magic was arguably the easiest subject Arthur had to deal with and the hardest one for Italy, not because the readings were at all difficult, but because he had a poor memory for history that had nothing to do with him. So that was the class where he lost his temper, and the professor- a dopey ghost by the name of Binns, calmly took ten points from Slytherin from the outburst.

The rest of them agreed that it was worth losing the points if it meant not having to listen to the first year Ravenclaws snicker behind their books if Italy so much as shifted on his seat and drew a blank each time he was asked a question. That silence only lasted for about a week, but by the time they were half way through October Arthur was used to giving Italy a firm jab with his wand under their desk so he wouldn't open his mouth and share the dangerous piece of Italian Magical history buried in the core of his wand.

"Hogwarts is not the place for plague stories." He warned as they packed up their bags and hurried along to Charms hoping to catch up with Scorpius.

"Just wait until sixth year." Italy vowed, his sour mood improving just from leaving the room behind. "Try and stop me from saying something then."

Charms with Flitwick was actually quite fun, and when you were used to writing twenty page reports, a half-foot of parchment was almost laughable in terms of homework. They both made a point of getting at least one or two swishes of the wand wrong at first, but as time crept by they both wound up with legitimate criticism. It was embarrassing.

"Your wrist is much too stiff, Mister Kirkland. It's fine for turning a matchstick into a push-pin, but you must get the basics down properly before moving on to more complex spells!" Complex spells like taking a semi-immortal entity and de-aging it to masquerade as a ten year old boy? It was Italy's turn to prod him in the side in Charms class when comments like that came up, especially because he came to realize that his wand-work_ was_ sloppy.

Forget embarrassing, he was downright humiliated.

Herbology wasn't terrible, but there was that constant sense that they were collectively about to be forgotten by Professor Longbottom. To his own students he was extremely attentive and on-hand to provide help, which was why Arthur encouraged Italy to keep trying to pick spots close to Weasley and Potter: because it meant when Longbottom came along with a bit of advice for the Gryffindors, the Slytherins had a better chance of hearing it and not mangling the plants they were pruning or watering or otherwise taking care of.

Otherwise, Longbottom only noticed when something went wrong at one of the Slytherin pots. He was never cruel and he needed a good deal of motivation to dock points, but it was discouraging for the rest of their class to only hear what they'd done wrong or how they'd harmed the plant they were supposed to be tending. He just seemed forever disappointed by what they produced, and as time trudged on Arthur found himself feeling distinctly protective of the other First Years whenever the Herbology Professor was mentioned.

"My rose garden in London's won plenty of awards." And of course, Italy had to bear the brunt of Arthur's complaints the same way he had to mind Italy muttering about the Milano Statute of 508. "Not a speck of magic and featured in three different magazines. Hmph!"

But again, Potions was the place where it felt like the seven of them could just sit down and take a deep breath.

The potions classroom was in the dungeon, close to the Slytherin common room, and it was taught by the previous Head of Slytherin House, Professor Slughorn. He was a positively ancient professor, over a hundred years old but with a taste for the kinds of concoctions that kept his hair coloured and his skin suspiciously smooth. His age showed up in his tendency to nod off during lessons, and the way his voice didn't match his face by sounding positively ragged and wheezy.

According to the older students after giving up his position as Head of House to Professor Malfoy, Slughorn had become completely blind to House colours. He was simply too old to care about them, and had changed his focus to something else entirely: money.

Which meant in a way that he still saw houses because the percentage of nobility in Slytherin was simply that much higher. However, if you were a poor Slytherin like Higgs then you weren't worth his time.

Arthur had to evoke his "foster-child" story to escape too many questions about his surname Kirkland, Feliciano played dumb and acted like his English wasn't good enough to discuss what his brother's job in Rome entailed. Scorpius had an awful time trying to get through a single lesson without being asked some kind of embarrassing question about his father several floors over their heads, but there were rumours of a visit to Slughorn's office by the School Healer that put a stop to those sorts of things at once.

"How am I supposed to know if he likes yorkshire pudding more than cauldron cakes?" Having his own father for House Head and school doctor seemed to be the main source of Scorpius' anxiety, but once the rhythm of school life caught him he stopped quaking quite so hard at the thought of eating lunch with his father watching them from across the hall. "They sit next to each other at the Head table, you think Slughorn would just look over and figure it out himself!"

Potter and Weasley were put through much the same ordeal, at least Weasley was once her mother's identity was revealed and Slughorn pieced together _which_ Weasley she took her name from.

Everyone earned the same level of instruction from Slughorn when brewing their laughing draughts and sleep potions, but the five students he'd honed in on as "star pupils" had a harder time getting anything done around his constant questions.

What Arthur and Feliciano- who he was falling out of habit with calling "Italy"- were both hoping for was the blur of days that would bring important holidays to them faster, but there was one thing every week that put a stop to that lulling comfort every time it tried to roll over them between drowsy lectures and children's essays.

And that event was the post.

"They're coming-"

"Duck, Vargas!"

And Feliciano did duck, he practically dove under the table every time the great hall started to fill with the noise and chatter of owl hoots and falling feathers. Every time the post came they both received something. Arthur dealt a dark owl that looked like its grey feathers had a blue wash over its wings and a mock-up of the Scottish cross over its chest. Scotland's bird was foul tempered and would insist on sitting on Arthur's plate until he fed it at least one sausage or produced a pre-written letter with his response to the last package.

If only Italy could have been so lucky.

_"I HOPE YOU'RE FUCKING HAPPY IN THAT PIECE OF SHIT ENGLISH SCHOOL YOU WENT OFF TO AND LEFT ME ALL ALONE HERE FOR DIPSHIT."_ If South Italy was forced to get his hands on an owl and write his letters by hand, then he'd apparently decided to go the extra mile and find the special paper and just enough magic to make sure North Italy never enjoyed a post delivery in silence. _"HAS YOUR STOMACH FUCKING COLLAPSED ON ITSELF YET I DAMNED WELL HOPE SO WE BOTH KNOW WHAT ENGLISH FOOD IS LIKE AND SCOTTISH SLOP IS __**WORSE**__ BUT IT'S EXACTLY WHAT YOU DESERVE."_

The only reason South Italy's Howlers weren't barred was thanks to his own forethought: he never cast one in English, and given the difficulty Arthur himself had in understanding them, it wasn't standard Italian either. He was using a regional dialect, and Arthur only knew all the insults because he knew Feliciano's older brother.

_"READ THE REPORT AND SIGN THE DAMNED PAPERS FUCK YOU I HOPE YOUR CAT VOMITS IN YOUR HAIR: __**FUCK YOU.**__"_

The first Howler had been the worst: an angry red letter with smoke hissing out the folds of the envelope and melting the wax seal while Feliciano had panicked trying to figure out what on earth he'd done to deserve such an embarrassment in his first week. The subsequent howlers were each promptly opened as soon as anybody at the Slytherin table could get their hands on them, including a Prefect who had kindly Accio'd one letter before the owl had even finished crossing the Great Hall.

But after all the screaming and swearing from across Europe there was always an intense pause as the letter evaporated into ash and inevitably ruined Feliciano's English breakfast. Arthur couldn't pretend Italy even cared about that last part, because South Italy had also picked up one other piece of magic in the wake of his brother going off to Hogwarts for a year.

"Ooh, what are those?"

"Cannoli! He never makes cannoli!" The spell was a delivery charm, one which whisked a plate or box of something freshly made directly to Italy's spot at the Slytherin table. Today's treat was fried pastry rolls stuffed with sweet, creamy cheese and dusted with crushed almonds and sugar, and Italy had clearly forgotten about the shrill screaming as he instantly picked one up and bit it in half with a delirious look of pleasure on his face.

"Might I try one?" Arthur asked.

"No."

"What? What do you mean _no?_"

Italy pushed his ash-dusted custard over in front of Arthur, who was deeply offended and about ready to jump up and start kicking the idiot sitting next to him.

"I mean no, you can't have one."

"I've never had Italian desserts before..." Scorpius was sitting on Italy's other side and leaning over as he made the remark, and when he was happily offered one of the sweets Arthur roared in outrage.

"Don't you dare play favourites! I asked first!"

"He didn't ask," Italy rebuked, grinning with a bit of ricotta stuck to his cheek and almond sugar on his lips. "He lamented, and because he's grown up on English food and never had the chance for real flavour, I pitied him."

"_TAKE THAT BACK._"

"Wow, this is so good...!"

"See?"

All Arthur could see was the fact that he'd made two atrociously bad friends, which was why he didn't feel any remorse when he got up from the table and gathered his books and the latest report from London up under his arm and left the great hall behind.

"If you two are late to Flying then it'll be your own damned fault!" No strange incidents like the locked door had happened since the start of term, but Arthur wasn't in the mood to go jinxing anything by pointing that out. He just listened to the sound of heavy claws scratching the floor behind him as Scotland's owl gave a disgruntled growl about having to walk, stopping just long enough for a harsh flap of wings and then the impossible weight of the blue bird landing on his arm to settle. When the creature began piercing his robe with its claws, Arthur voiced his disapproval.

"Honestly! Mind your grip you awful thing." The owl bit his ear for scolding it, not a gentle nip or playful cuff, but an actual bite that hurt more than it should have and led to a lot of arm-waving and several stray feathers as Arthur wobbled his way up a flight of stairs. "Menace! Why didn't you fly up to the owlery yourself then you mangy old-"

"Arthur Kirkland you put that wand down at once!"

Arthur expected a teacher until he realized the voice was much too shrill for that, turning around to see the tall red-headed Rose Weasley marching towards him with her own wand out and clutched in her hand, matching his where he'd drawn the oak rod so he could beat the owl off his arm where the claws were digging in even further over his elbow. Her blue eyes were narrow and scowling at him, every inch a pouty child with a sour temper as her red and gold badge shone over her breast.

"How dare you threaten to hex a poor animal! Let go of it at once!"

"It's grabbing _me_ you stupid girl!" Giving his arm another hard shake to prove his point, Scotland's owl huffed angrily and finally released him, dropping back to the floor and raising both wings awkwardly trying to keep its feathers off the stones.

"There!" he hissed at the bird. "Now you can either walk down with me to the Slytherin commons for the letter you want, or fly up to the owlery and get something to eat, you foul creature."

"It's not the owl's fault you're too tiny to carry it properly." As if she had anything to do with this conversation!

"A lecture about circumstance is rich coming from someone like you, Miss Weasley!" So he pulled a dirty card, and he didn't even feel bad about it.

"Is that supposed to be a jab at my _family?"_ Rose gasped, her face going pink as her temper came roaring up._ "_I'll have you know the Weasleys-"

"Actually, it was about Vargas!" He cut her off, bringing up something that had been irritating him for a while now. "You were all buddy-buddy on the train with each other, telling stories and shaking hands, but as soon as he put on a ratty old hat it's like he grew a third arm and started drooling."

A guilty look petrified the child standing across the hall from him, and Arthur felt himself being pulled in two distinct directions: one that begged he let the little girl go off now with her tail not quite stuffed between her legs, and the other one that was irritated with this petty behaviour already and wanted to make it quite clear that her acting like this would not be tolerated beyond school walls.

The older, harsher part of him won.

"Quite a funny name you Gryffindors have for us: snakeskins is it? Are you afraid one day you'll be talking to Vargas and his face will slop off? Because just watching the two of you it seems like _you're_ the one whose skin changed when you put that red badge on your robes."

"You be quiet, I won't have you disrespecting my house!"

"And I won't have you disrespecting my friend." he challenged. "I'm not here to be nice, Miss Weasley, if you and I got off on the wrong foot then fine, we'll go our separate ways. But you and Vargas were about to link arms and walk off singing on the first day, so if you want to erase all of that then I'll say this: find a better reason for it, you two-faced gryffin."

"How _dare_ you- you! You ugly little caterpillar!" She'd inherited her mother's brilliant mind, but also her father's astoundingly short temper. When Rose Weasley raised her wand Arthur was so surprised he didn't even hear what she said, he just saw a blast of gold light coming straight at him and performed the only maneuver that mattered.

His wand came up and his arm remembered the stroke long before his conscious mind found it. His wand-tip connected with the very edge of the spell as he followed through and pulled his elbow up, wrist circling over his head as his feet slid wide under him and his knees bent to lower him down and keep his head away from the racing sparks. There was a momentarily collision of two different techniques, but he was already committed and hadn't practiced in so long that he didn't know how to break the habit.

Instead of slamming the spell down on the stones next to him, Arthur's arm and wand whipped around and sent the spell firing straight back at the witch who'd cast it. The spell struck Rose Weasley full in the face, and the poor girl screamed and fell to the floor in a heap.

Stunned by his own actions, Arthur looked at his brother's owl. The familiar was staring up at him with wide yellow eyes declaring him an absolute fool, and when it seemed to think he was asking for help its entire body jumped before it turned tail and waddle-ran its way back towards the great hall. Typical.

"Rose?"

"I heard a scream! A terrible sound! What's happened here?"

A young male voice and then an odd string of questions that came from the walls themselves, blue vapours signalling the arrival of a ghost while running footsteps meant someone else was coming too. Arthur didn't spare a look back to see whether it was a house ghost or anyone else who formed through the walls, he just saw two running students who were much taller than him with red ties around their necks charging towards him.

"Bollocks." His fight-or-flight instincts were locked, pride refusing to turn away from a group of children as a boy with black hair dropped down next to the girl where she'd pulled her knees up and had her face in both hands. She sounded like she was crying and when she recognized the voice she just started saying "James" over and over again.

"You!" The other was a very tall Gryffindor girl with silver hair streaked with red, a white wand clutched in her hand as she waved it threateningly at him. "Snakeskin! What did you do to my little cousin?"

"Now just calm down!" Arthur started, hands up and wand still out but pointed uselessly up at the ceiling. He felt himself backing up as the Gryffindor house ghost, Nearly-Headless Nick, properly manifested with a great big ruff around his severed seventeenth century neck. "I only threw her spell back at her, whatever it did has nothing to do with me!"

"A first year who can redirect spells? What a little liar you are!" Oh Lord, was that a- a _Prefect's badge_ on her robes?

"It's the truth! Ask her yourself when she stops crying I just-"

"You're just going to regret that!" The boy could have been in second year, maybe third, but he pulled his arm back with something happening under his breath.

Arthur didn't hesitate before he called out for the ghost:

"Nick! _I need a teacher!_" He knew better than to use first year status to defend himself!

"I'm certainly not going to help you!" Wha-?

Arthur was too shocked to hear a school ghost refuse help that he missed his window to stop the expeliarmus spell that struck his wrist and crippled his arm for a brief moment of pain. His wand flew free and struck the wall as he fell back even more and felt the urge to run growing stronger. They weren't going to hurt him, they wouldn't know _how_ with magic at their age, but two against one, this- _this-!_

"Get away from him!" Something else came off the girl's wand this time but it was struck down by a blast of purple light behind Arthur, his tiny body not cooperating as a mixture of poisonous insult and raging anger kept him utterly frozen on his feet. A hand grabbed his shoulder and wrenched him back, and then he was left staring at the back of Pascal Zabini's robes as the Slytherin Prefect stepped in front of him. "Potter! Weasley! Pick on someone your own size!"

"Or better yet-" Another voice this time, one that was much older than a set of teenagers facing off and which caused a sudden darkness to fall over the corridor. The sound of it was familiar, but the dark, heavy tone... "I remove ten points from my own house, and tell you how disappointed I am, Victoire, that you would throw a curse like that at an unarmed first year."

"Go get your wand, Kirkland." Arthur was trying to sneak a look out past Zabini's robes when the older student spoke down at him. When he looked up, he found the upperclassman giving him a stern look that didn't belong to a sixteen year old boy. "I thought I warned you first years not to wander the halls alone." It had seemed like such a nuisance restriction at the time...

Arthur fetched his wand off the floor where it had fallen, relieved that there was no damage to the polished old oak as he stuffed it back up his sleeve and finally saw the speaker who'd broken up the fight before it could escalate.

Professor Longbottom was much cleaner than normal given first class hadn't started yet, and he was kneeling in his short robes next to Rose Weasley, coaxing her to show her face where two long curtains of eyebrow hair had grown and smothered her eyes and cheeks with ugly bristles. Arthur knew his face was flushed with insult at what she'd tried to do, and frankly he just wasn't sorry for throwing it back in her snobbish face.

"No damage done then, if any of it starts growing back you'll have to go straight up to Professor Malfoy." With his prognosis given, the professor stood and faced the Slytherin Prefect. "Prefect Zabini, Prefect Weasley, step forward."

Arthur had been confused by Zabini saying Weasley until right now, understanding that the tall blonde girl was probably _another_ cousin of the massive Weasley clan. When both students were standing in front of him, Longbottom gave each a tap on the head with his wand and Arthur felt something radiate through their robes: probably from the prefect badges they both wore.

"Tell the truth. Zabini?"

"I saw two Gryffindor students accosting a First Year from my house, professor. He was trying to say something but Potter disarmed him and Weasley fired a hex."

"Miss Weasley?"

"James and I saw a flash and heard our cousin Rose scream. When we got here, she was crying on the floor and the Slytherin had his wand still out."

Longbottom seemed to consider both partial stories for a moment, and right when Arthur expected to be called on to give his own version of the story, he was stunned when the Professor passed judgement.

"I've already taken ten points from Gryffindor, and I'm going to take five from Slytherin. Magic in the halls is expressly forbidden and fighting can get you suspended or worse." Arthur found this decidedly unfair and almost choked trying to say as much. "Mister Kirkland and Miss Weasley, you will both be serving detention with me tomorrow night at the green houses after dinner. Bring your wands and herbology kits, understood?"

"B-But Professor-"

"That was not an invitation to argue, Miss Weasley. Mister Kirkland, do you understand?"

"Yes Professor." He understood how being a child again was an absolutely wretched fate to endure, because neither first year was so much as given a _chance_ to defend themselves. It was poison.

And it was only October.

This was Hogwarts.

* * *

**Damned Gryffindors.**


	10. Flying Lessons

**This is Why I Was Born.**

* * *

**_Snakeskins_**

Flying Lessons

Lovino's care packages were part of what helped snub the loneliness of staying at the school. It wasn't that Feliciano lacked people to talk to, but there was an isolating effect of being so far from home for so long.

The weather was different, the food was different, the language, the culture, the architecture, the people themselves: all so different.

Not bad!

Just, not like home.

So it was nice to have Lovino scream at him in their language through an enchanted letter. Would a phone-call have been nicer? Obviously. But electronics didn't work in the castle and leaving the school was forbidden until Christmas break. Professor Malfoy had already spoken to him about the Howlers once however, and Feliciano had made a point when mailing back the completed government paperwork that his brother had to keep out words in Italian that were recognizable in English: bastard being the top priority.

The delivery of important documents from Rome was surprisingly light this week, the equivalent of Lovino sending him "no homework" to do on top of light readings and essays for Hogwarts classes. Feliciano was happy enough about this that he tapped the last cannoli with his wand and charmed it to stay fresh for England, laughing with Scorpius about the huff the other nation had stormed off in before they left the great hall and followed the winding corridors down to find the doors leading out to the quidditch pitch.

"You really like quidditch, don't you?" It was a long walk from the castle across the grounds to the towers of the quidditch stadium, but Flying lessons were for first years only and Professor Desford had a passion for the wizarding sport that matched most of her students'.

When England and Rose Weasley showed up five minutes late with a note from Professor Longbottom excusing their tardiness, Feliciano almost fell off his broom before they were even in the air.

"Detention? _You?_" Rule-abiding, honour-bound, never-in-a-fight-he-couldn't-win Arthur Kirk-?

"Yes, me!" England sniped, green eyes doing a thing that was kind of scary as he snatched the school broom out of Feliciano's hands and made him go back to collect a different one. Meanie. "Shut up about it and I'll tell you everything later."

Professor Desford was a spry witch with blonde hair she kept pinned and bundled up behind her head, flying goggles on her forehead and robes cut white and black like a racing flag. She was probably their most excitable teacher, always smiling, and eager for any opportunity to get herself and the rest of them off the ground.

"Relays today!" She was also the school's representatives from the Quidditch League, something that made Feliciano slightly uncomfortable. If Hogwarts lost its status the way he'd threatened back in July, her job would be one of the first ones cut. "First years can't play quidditch, but we can still toughen you up for next year!"

The objective for the day was simple: with a wave of her wand Professor Desford called up several dozen multi-coloured smoke rings on both sides of the quidditch pitch, ranging in height from just above the ground to way up over the goal posts. They were each one solid colour in a rainbow gradient from deep dark crimson all the way to a neon violet all the way at the other end. The rings formed two oscillating loops, so hopefully neither set of students would go flying into each other.

"A seeker skill-builder!" She exclaimed, almost as happy as some of the more quidditch-apt students in both Slytherin and Gryffindor robes. "There are two golden snitches buzzing around on a set course through these hoops, your job is to catch it before completing the circuit! When you catch it, swap out, and if you fail, swap and wait for another chance! Whichever team gathers the most points before time runs out will win ten house points!"

Flying was one of those awkward skills that Feliciano both enjoyed and yet wanted to stay away from. He loved the speed and the power of it, swooping and diving and being in control, but at the same time there was something about a broomstick that was utterly alien to him and he couldn't say he liked it.

He'd flown his air force's jet fighters, he'd sailed ships for centuries, building up cars and racing them against his brother and the other nations was one of his favourite adventurous pass-times.

A broom was just a big stick with a stocky end. There were proper ways to hold your feet but they were nothing like mounting a horse. The control aspect came more from shifting the body's weight like on a motorcycle, but there wasn't enough bulk underneath like a real engine to ground the rider and keep the motions stable.

It was a little bit too much like controlled falling...

But that didn't mean he wasn't going to do well.

"Bet I catch a snitch before you do." He teased, trying to get England to brighten up just a little bit where he was a furious, scowling mound of hatred clutching his broom and standing in line behind him.

"Bet you eat dirt and go back to the dorms crying." Rude! "Take a look over at Gryffindor: we're flying against _Potter_ and his mother played for the national team."

"You're still rude." Feliciano scolded, turning back around as Higgs kicked off into the air and went screaming at a very awkward angle trying to hit the first ring without swooping too wide.

"Rest your weight, Charles, come on..." And Scorpius was practically on his toes behind Eliza, bouncing and muttering under his breath showing just how much he knew about the sport and technique.

Remembering something as it looked like Higgs was trying to take his time and fly straight instead of fly fast, Feliciano tug the enchanted sweet out of his pocket where he'd wrapped it in a napkin from the great hall. Offering it behind him, England didn't seem to notice it for a minute or two before finally taking it.

"...Thanks."

"They're better than chocolate!" Flashing a grin over his shoulder once Eliza was off, it was cute watching England's young, round little face try and get a proper bite out of the cannoli and chew without being spotted by their professor.

"One point, Gryffindor! Release and let the next one go!"

"_C'mon, Gamp!_"

"Point to Slytherin! Get on your broom, Mister Malfoy!"

He didn't need telling twice and Feliciano thought he felt a backwards gust of air before Scorpious was off with his lean body hugging the broom as Eliza Gamp stumbled with her broom in hand, cheeks flushed and grinning at the rest of them.

In the air, Scorpius went too fast and missed the first ring, but corrected for it and began swooping and diving to get back in line with his target.

Now that there was no one in front of him, it was a lot scarier seeing just how steep some of the dives and turns were. This really wasn't his sport.

"Don't let Potter beat you, I wish it was Weasley, but-"

"He's got it! _Go, Vargas!_"

His hands were looking for handles to rev and keep him grounded, he wanted more than the silent half-hum of the broom under him as his thighs closed and awkwardly slipped around the too-slim body of the shaft. Awful things, broomsticks.

He kicked off and felt the wind hiss between himself and the stick, a cushion of air that would slow him down but keep him stable as he rose straight up off the ground and refused to look down as his head passed through the first dark red band of smoke and he threw his weight around to the left before breaking into a spiralling dive.

He didn't get dizzy easily, and the forces trying to rip him off the broom just gave him a sense of stability as his eyes focused on the next ring and he passed through that by pulling out of the dive. Orange fell behind him and he came around wide to slide through yellow when something thunked him between the eyes.

A walnut-sized piece of gold bounced off his forehead with a painful crack and Feliciano completely forgot that he was supposed to try and catch it, he had a harder time getting his eyes open again and pulling his limbs in close when he felt the broom going straight up in the air instead of following a smooth angle down towards the light green ring. Growling under his breath, he set his chest and belly against the polished wood and rocketed forward, knowing he couldn't turn around and hoping the snitch was faster than he was and would make a full circuit first.

"Faster! Faster!" How much faster did they want him to go? All three green rings passed in a blur and the first blue was so far down his elbow almost skidded across the grass before he zig-zagged over the ground to hit the next two, the first purple ring blossoming ten feet over his head when he kicked off the ground and shot straight up.

_This time_ he saw the snitch, catching sight of its yellow glitter against the second to last smoke ring. Instead of rushing him this time, the enchanted ball sped away.

"Oh no you-" Faster? Fine, he could do faster, eyes narrowed against the wind and hands twisting around the head of the broomstick like he could work more speed out of it like the handles of a motorcycle, ankles tucked in hard as if imagining a horse's flanks.

It was a straight-away to the final ring, and that was when something wrong happened.

The snitch was enchanted to follow a path through the rings and just keep doubling back and forth, but it went from being the bull's-eye in the target of the last indigo ring to firing off across the pitch leaving Feliciano with a clear view of the ring and the watching crowd of students down below.

Instead of the bell she always used for relays, Professor Desford blew her whistle.

And for a reason Lovino would give him hell for next week, Feliciano followed the snitch.

He cut across the air and when the snitch dove he followed it again, spinning around until his right side was parallel with the ground and he felt his core muscles straining with his legs to let one of his hands up to reach and make a grab.

The snitch shot left and his ankle hooked under the broom jerked the back end up like the rear wheels of a race-car, the stick drifting sideways before finding the magical equivalent of grip and shooting him straight again.

His fingertips brushed the gold case and then everything crashed with an explosion of gold pieces and shredded turf.

The last thing he knew he saw was two snitches hovering in front of him, and then a lot of sky before he shut his eyes and felt himself tumbling rapidly across the ground, his shoulder screaming before an awful stab lanced him through the side and he was crashing over and under another fast-moving body.

His broom was gone and his arms wrapped around something big and heavy before he flipped over one more time and his shoulders slammed the ground, skidding with dirt and grass everywhere, and finally came to a stop.

"_Vargas!_" He couldn't breathe. He couldn't see anything but brilliant light and the hazy outline of the goal-posts. "_Potter!_ You there- Higgs! Fly up to the infirmary- fourth floor!"

There was blood in his mouth and that was why he couldn't breathe: it was going down his throat- or was it coming up it? He had to get the weight off his torso, his mind thinking of shrapnel and the carnage of a wreck before he remembered broomsticks didn't have debris.

His hands hit something too soft for twisted metal and then stopped. If he was injured, then so was the child resting on top of him. He wouldn't die from this, but humans were much more fragile.

"_Albus!_ Albus oh my god!" Feliciano must have crossed into the Gryffindor circuit; it was the only explanation he could think of as he closed his eyes against the bright white sky and used one shaking hand to wipe his mouth. Don't let there be blood, and don't let the child die for his mistake.

"Vargas? Feli can you hear me?" That was Scorpius' voice and his small hands grabbing Feliciano's shoulder. He reached up and touched the boy's arm, trying to nod his head a little and waiting for the throbbing in his skull to go away. Albus' weight was taken off of him and that made everything a lot better.

His mental catalogue started working. Nothing broken, just a few bruises; his shoulder was sore but the muscles remained whole. He'd nearly snapped his collarbone, but he'd landed just right on the ground and he'd be alright.

Something had tried to impale his side and left one side of his leg numb. When his other hand touched the place where a black bruise had tried to puncture him, it was just the right size for a broomstick's rounded head.

"Bit my tongue." He lied, rolling over before Desford could tell him not to and spitting blood out on the grass. The bleeding was from deeper inside, but he couldn't conjure up the memories or the know-how right now to say it was safe to receive a magical healing.

"Potter caught the snitch!"

"Albus, can you bend your wrist?" He was in a lot of pain, but when he opened his eyes this time it was already starting to go away. He could see better, enough to know that he had to take the handkerchief someone handed him and quickly spit as much of the blood in his mouth out onto the grass before wiping the residue away. The bleeding would stop in a few minutes.

"N-No, ma'am..."

"He caught the snitch!"

"Just stand up slowly now... Alright. Vargas, let me have a look at you."

"Professor! Professor Desford, Albus caught the snitch, that means we get an extra point, don't we?"

"A _point?"_ There was a sudden drop in volume when Desford asked her question, her hands on Feliciano's shoulder trying to make him roll back over so she could get a look at him when she froze. "An extra point? You're asking me about points when two of your classmates are injured and one of them is bleeding out his nose, Mister Thomas? Fine then: five points from Gryffindor for _atrocious_ sportsmanship, does that satisfy you or should I take more?"

"My cousin just snapped his wrist in half and all you care about is winning a stupid relay?" That voice sounded like Rose Weasley, but Feliciano was distracted by Professor Desford looking down and telling him to lay on his back again so she could do a quick check. If he hadn't been pint-sized, Feliciano might have mentioned how pretty her grey eyes were: much nicer than looking at the sky, but he preferred it when she smiled.

"Ve... Professore I'm sorry." Speaking was hard and he felt the blood come up a little higher, but he forced himself to swallow it and saw the concern rewrite itself over her face. When he tried to pick himself up, she immediately pressed down on his shoulders. "I can get up, I'm alright. I should say sorry for hitting Potter."

"You landed on your neck, Mister Vargas, you aren't moving until Professor Malfoy gets here." His neck was perfectly fine though, he knew what a snapped spine felt like: he just couldn't say as much without causing an even bigger scene. "And you didn't hit Potter: it was the other way around."

"I flew into his space-"

She didn't want him to talk because she really did think he was seriously injured. Paralysis could be fixed with magic- _sometimes_, and Feliciano was almost embarrassed by her concern until he heard footsteps and saw Albus Potter come and stand over him. He could see part of his reflection in Potter's square glasses, and that was enough to remind him that he didn't look like a man to Professor Desford, he was just a very small boy who'd just been pummelled into the ground.

"I... I'm really sorry, Vargas." Albus was holding his wrist awkwardly, his other arm supporting the limb with Rose standing right behind him. She wasn't pushing her cousin forward though, it was more like she was hiding behind him as Feliciano noticed England sitting behind him over his shoulder, watching both of them very carefully. "I dove without looking ahead, my mum'll be so mad when she finds out: it was careless. I'm sorry."

"_Va bene_, Potter. It only hurts a little bit. Is your wrist-?"

The stare he got from the professor shut him up for good this time, but Feliciano kept a close eye on her as he very slowly lifted one arm up, reaching without letting his shoulders come off the ground for Potter to take his hand and shake. He was in more pain the longer he laid and let the bruises form and muscles stiffen up against the cold ground, but whatever had torn and bled inside him was beginning to clot and fix itself up already. Nations didn't make a habit of staying down for long, especially not from sports injuries.

Professor Desford stood all at once and swept away, giving England the opportunity to quickly hunch down over his head and whisper at him.

"How much more time do you need?"

"I'm fine, _really_." He could have stood up at the same time Potter did, but now England was giving him a rotten scowl.

"You skidded back almost ten yards after being slammed _directly_ from above. You're not that resistant!"

"_Shows what you know!_" He hissed back.

"Kirkland! I just told you not to touch him!"

England's face vanished and Feliciano was left looking at the bright sky again, a bit of black hair telling him Potter was still lingering while Higgs was off trying to get Gamp to stop crying again. It was nice to know a pretty girl like that was worrying, but when he heard students parting it was hard not to look up at Professor Malfoy.

"I thought you said the students were following a circuit?" Scorpius' father was speaking to Professor Desford, but although it looked like he acknowledged Potter's injury, he knelt next to Feliciano first.

"The snitches broke free, and screamed right at each other. Of course the boys followed but I have no idea how it happened."

"We'll deal with it later then." And then those cold grey eyes came down on him properly. Professor Malfoy's flaxen hair was pulled back as always, not moving even when he knelt down with his wand in one hand and flicked a speck of dirt off Feliciano's robe. "Taking a nap in the middle of class, Vargas?"

"Just a short one, sir." The wand touched the middle of his forehead, then pulsed again over his throat. It was a bead of warmth that was a little uncomfortable because it soaked straight through his skin. Invasive in nature but intimate in purpose, it got harder to breathe again when the wand tapped the talisman under his clothes and the normally cold cross went hot.

Of course the professor noticed the reaction. He looked Feliciano dead in the eye again, said nothing, and brushed it off as just a good luck charm before tapping again over each of his shoulders and then sitting back up.

"He seems alright."

"Are you _sure?_" Professor Desford didn't sound like she was criticizing him, just baffled. "Draco these boys came hurtling at each other at full speed!"

"And Mister Vargas has the bruises to prove it, especially here." If he'd been able to see Professor Malfoy's hand moving he would have done anything to stop it, because the Healer pressed two fingertips hard against his side and the nation yelped loudly and spasmed trying to get up away from the pain. England was right there to take his hand when Feliciano was clawing for something to help lever him up, and he made it all the way to his knees before hearing Professor Malfoy chuckle behind him.

"If the soreness is too much then he can come up to the infirmary for proper treatment. As for the blood, he either chipped a tooth or bit his tongue, and as we can all see he speaks just fine despite it. Potter..."

Feliciano stopped listening, he was too busy padding down his robes looking for his wand, still on his knees and covered in crushed grass and wet dirt. If he didn't get rid of the metallic taste in his mouth he was going to be sick.

"Oh just open up," He looked around and saw England's wand pointing at him.

"Ve- _aaagah!_"

Coughing hurt! Coughing hurt a whole lot! Coughing made his tender ribs rub the wrong way and set his shoulders and back on fire! It didn't help at all that he was choking on a stream of cold water that England shot right at his mouth!

"Better?"

Feliciano had to think all the way back to Lovino's howler before, in Italian, he told England exactly what kind of friend he really was.

* * *

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	11. Moon-wart

**Snakeskins Playlist**

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_Snake__**skins**_

Moonwart

Ultimately, Italy did end up having to go to the infirmary for more care, not because he actually needed it, but because Professor Desford escorted the Slytherins to their Defense Against the Dark Arts class with the Ravenclaw first years and told Professor Creevey exactly what had happened on the quidditch pitch. The two of them discussed things quietly by the door, but Arthur still heard the entire exchange.

"Professor Desford, if Professor Malfoy says he's alright then-"

"_Dennis..!_"

So not only did Feliciano miss Defense Against the Dark Arts, he also missed lunch along with Professor Malfoy and Desford again who were both absent from the high table during the meal. When he didn't show up to Transfiguration that afternoon, the rest of their class went back to the Slytherin Common Rooms to wait for dinner and their late night Astronomy lesson without him.

"There you are!"

Except the idiot was already in the common room waiting for them, tormenting his cat with a crumpled ball of paper bewitched to dance and wiggle across the floor in time with his wand flicking back and forth. Older Slytherin students filed in and out without really noticing him where Feliciano had taken a seat under one of the glowing green windows. He had his textbooks all stacked up neatly showing he'd probably finished off the day's homework before playing with the cat: Arthur spotted a bundle of printed office memos that had slipped off his lap and gotten stuck in the side of his chair, so obviously he was just finding excuses not to work.

"Feeling better, Vargas?" Arthur asked, dropping into the chair across from him and swinging his feet up onto the low table. The girls went off sighing about something and Higgs heard his name called across the room and left. Scorpius had to drag a chair over to join them, and he had somehow found his chess board already in case either of them wanted to play.

"Ve~ I felt fine before even leaving. How was Defense class?"

Feliciano's cat-charm was abandoned when the three of them habitually performed the draw to see who would get first go with the chess board. Since there were three of them and the colour of the wand tip was random, it was like throwing rock-scissors-paper until Arthur and Scorpius were left setting the pieces up and starting a game.

"Dad- eh... Professor Malfoy sometimes complains about Professor Desford, she's always like that when it comes to injuries in quidditch." Pawns started creeping across the board and Arthur sent his bishop out to set up position, keeping the conversation going while Italy bundled his cat up in his arms and rubbed the dopey, attention-hogging animal all over while it purred.

"What have you been doing all this time? Did the Professor pour a bunch of medicines down your throat?"

"He made me drink something when Professor Desford was still there, but I think it was just pumpkin juice. When she left he sent me to go get cleaned up and then sit on one of the beds with my Transfiguration homework."

Arthur held Italy's gaze for a few moments over Scorpius' head, watching Italy's peppy grin fade a little when he opened his eyes seriously and gave a shallow nod that no one else was supposed to see. It meant he felt everything was still okay with the Slytherin professor, which was exactly what Arthur wanted to hear. The last thing they needed was a professor getting suspicious of how quickly a set of deep bruises had healed, or to bring the Headmistress down into their affairs again. If Minerva McGonagall never heard the name "Vargas" in her office again, she'd probably live at least ten years longer.

"So how did you end up getting detention?"

Arthur relayed that story between commands for his pieces to move and back Scorpius up into a tiny corner of the board. He was too late to stop Italy from leaning over and whispering something to the boy because of it, and gave his wand a threatening wave in the Italian's direction when Scorpius's knight smashed through the rook keeping his queen trapped against the edge of the board. He still wound up winning the game, but the White Queen did a great deal of damage to his army before that finally happened.

Scorpius and Italy's game was interrupted by the call to go to dinner, and then the Slytherin and Hufflepuff first years hurrying up the stairs to get to the Astronomy Tower. Astronomy had to be one of the most relaxing subjects that he or Italy had to take after centuries of star-gazing, perfectly configured star-charts handed over to their Professor before Arthur was forced to say good night to the rest of his classmates and take a different path through the castle to reach the green houses.

They were probably going to be weeding flower pots in Greenhouse two, or mixing fertilizer by hand for an hour. Detention really didn't mean that much to him anymore. If he wanted to put himself in a bad mood then he'd rather ask why two bewitched gold balls had suddenly broken free of their enchantments and gone screaming across the pitch at each other to cause the collision. If he wanted to stay in a good mood, Arthur just had to glance up at the sky as he found the cold October night again and admire Mars hovering in its usual patch of inky black.

He had to admit, it was quite nice to be far from the London lights on clear evenings like this.

"Kirkland."

"Miss Weasley."

They met each other outside the greenhouses where the glass structures stood in neat rows, Rose Weasley's black robes closed tight around her to keep the chill air at bay.

"Your friend, he's...?" Hmph, she wouldn't say his name and Arthur wasn't in the mood to go having the same argument all over again. He'd rather look for constellations than let his blood-pressure get run up by her again.

"Feliciano's quite alright, he spent the afternoon doing homework and drinking pumpkin juice. Potter?"

"He's fine too." There. Civil conversation complete, the two of them simply stood outside and waited.

Professor Longbottom didn't take much longer to appear, he came from the direction of Greenhouse 5, not the castle like the two of them had expected. There was a white flame kept in a glass jar swinging from his belt, hands full of something as he walked up to them and seemed pleased that they were both on time.

"Alright, no need to look so glum." He handed both of them a short, dull knife and a metal pail, then gestured for the two of them to light up their wands and follow him across the damp lawn. "I've told Hagrid off for the night to get some rest, he's not as spry as he once was and Halloween's always extra tiring for him. Tonight's chore is rather tedious, but not very hard, stick close to me and you'll both be safe."

"We..." Rose swallowed her words before trying again, something darker than the sky looming ahead of them as Arthur felt his good mood starting to wane. "We're going into the forest, aren't we?"

"Not very deep, but yes." Spectacular.

"Professor Slughorn needs more moon-wart for the Advanced Potions class, and since it's safe enough to gather that's what you'll be helping me with tonight." Safe enough he said, leading them right up to the edge of the woods where the bushes began to grow and the lush grass gave way to brambles and bare earth. Longbottom doused the flame at his hip with a word and stood there in silence for a moment, the starlight and ambient glow of the castle filtering down slowly until a new glow calmly began to form.

The moon-wart was a dusty blue sparkle, a lichen of sorts that had absorbed enough magical energy to shimmer on its own. Longbottom picked up a large rock with some of it stuck on the bottom and showed them how to use the dull, notched knives he'd given them to scrape the substance off into the buckets.

"We won't be out here all night, but I'd like to bring at least a cup or two back to him tomorrow morning."

"We're going to split up, but not too far." A wave of his wand put a spot of red light on Rose's robes between her shoulder blades, a green one on Arthur's back, and then a rather large white ring over Professor Longbottom's back so he was the brightest of the three. "If at any point either of you can't see me, I want you to send up white sparks from your wand, understand?"

He had them practice twice in front of him, just to make sure they could perform the simple task.

"If I lose sight of either of you and you don't answer your name, I'll send up yellow and I want you to come back immediately." Simple enough then. "If you're in danger, red sparks as big and high as you can. Try it now."

Rose sent a gout of red sparks over their heads about seven feet high, Arthur copied her but pride made him add an extra two feet of height before a soft pop made them explode like fireworks.

"Exactly like that, and make the bang louder if you can." Ideally they wouldn't have to, but Longbottom led them carefully along the first path that took them just inside the trees, telling them to keep the castle lights in view as well so they wouldn't get completely lost.

"Try not to use too much light, it scares the moon-wart."

Arthur was quite pleased to be working alone even if it was tedious and slow going. His eyes were good enough to tell the difference between moon glow and the florescent blue sparkle he was supposed to be looking for, but the task required just enough concentration that his mind couldn't wander as far as he wanted it to. He was mentally reviewing what he'd seen in Scotland's package of paperwork, trying to remember what exactly his transcription of France's speach had said when he heard something rustle.

Standing up straight, it was troubling to be so short when the shrubs and bushes came up almost high enough to cover his head. Spinning around, he saw Longbottom's glow and quickly took a few steps in that direction.

The loud snap and pop of breaking branches made him spin around with his wand out, the knife hitting the ground because it's cutting edge was as useless as his eyes trying to see straight through the shadowed woods.

"Invader..."

"Hogwarts itself is my sponsor!" There was absolutely no playing around when a voice like the heavy weight of dead wood touched him in the night. He knew what kinds of creatures lived in the school's Forbidden Forest, and whatever charms he was wearing would only confuse them, not stop them from knowing exactly what he was supposed to be. "I am here to protect and to learn, not bring harm."

"Liar."

"Says a coward! Show yourself before you challenge me!"

Footsteps, but not the easy rhythm of two feet finding purchase over fallen logs and dead branches: the repetitive clop of four hooves cutting into the soft earth. A moonbeam struck down on a bare chest wearing black curls, strong muscles flexing and tense where a male torso broke down into the strong body of a tale stag. The centaur's bearded face was square, blue eyes glowing over straight bare teeth that glowed white with the dim light.

Centaurs were connected to the land, and they were anything but stupid.

"The land quakes where you walk, you bring nothing but fear in your wake."

"The Scottish Highlands do not fear me, he fears that I will fail in my task." The centaur didn't answer him right away, but it wasn't the sort of pause to suggest deep thought. The watch around Arthur's wrist felt hot and tight where he was holding his wand in the same hand, but he didn't let the point waver. "My brother trusts me to protect Hogwarts the same way I trust him to protect the whole of Britain in my stead."

"Who brings the fear?"

"Someone like me, but the darkness is not-"

"Kirkland!_"_

"Who brings the darkness?"

"I have to go, the professor-" a brilliant wave of gold light somewhere between the trees made the centaur's blue eyes narrow dangerously, his front legs buckling down as his muscles arms came up with fists. He asked his question again like he was ready to charge.

"Who brings the darkness!"

"_Kirkland!_"

Arthur pulled his arm back and cut the air with his wand, red light pouring from the tip before he shot his flare straight up past the centaur's head. It didn't just pop this time, it exploded like a can of compressed air and washed the trees in alarmed crimson. He didn't even wait to see his own spell through, dropping the metal bucket and spinning so fast his feet slipped on the mulch before he tore off past the trees at a dead sprint.

The first thing his eyes found was two trees growing as a V and his small body shot straight through them, hooves pounding the earth behind him fast enough to over-take him before the sound of ripping bark said he wasn't safe. As a child he was too small to take the large fallen tree in front of him at a leap so he threw his weight back and skidded over the dirt and needles to slid under it, his wand firing another gout of red so Longbottom would know where the hell he'd gone.

He came out from under the log at the same time the centaur's hooves slammed the ground from a high jump, and still on his back he rolled to the left and found his feet again, sprinting back towards the school and the brilliant gold light that was shining like a beacon to help him find his way. The light had to mean safety because a pale pink flash of light shot past him and he heard the centaur yell in anger as he was hit with the jinx, Arthur's little legs catching on roots and throwing him down so he had to claw and scramble with his wand still in hand trying to reach safety.

A shield spell locked over him so hard he might have turned into a clam, but his greatest protection was Longbottom's voice roaring through the light:

"_In the name of Hogwarts Witchcraft and Wizardy, you will call off your attack!"_ and then the Professor himself standing over him, wand out and eyes locked on the thrashing beast lost in the foliage behind them.

"Release me, Wizard!"

"Give me your name!"

"_No!_" Arthur looked back over his shoulder, wary of standing up too soon and leaving the protection of the shield until he saw what Longbottom had done. The centaur was slamming his two front hooves on the ground like he was praying, knees bound together with a leg-lock charm that kept him down in what looked like a painful position for a creature like him.

"Then you already know how you've dishonoured yourself and your herd. I brought these students to the forest with Magorian's blessing, and you've made him a liar!"

The centaur stopped thrashing, and the shield spell slowly began to fade along with the blinding yellow light once things started to calm. Longbottom never took his eyes off the centaur, but his free hand grabbed at Arthur's robes until he picked himself up and hurried behind the Professor where Rose Weasley was waiting, stunned, under another shield charm that opened up to let him in.

"My name is Gorin, son of Ronan."

There was another flash of pink off Professor Longbottom's arm as he swished his wand quickly in front of him, the leg-lock curse vanishing at once and letting the centaur's legs come apart and hold his weight again properly.

"Return to your people then, son of Ronan, and we will do the same."

There was a tense moment where the two stood off against each other, but the centaur lost because instead of holding the professor's gaze the entire time, he broke eye contact to stare straight through Arthur like he could lift the charm on his body just by glaring it into submission. The nation didn't bend, and with a loud huff the centaur kicked up his front legs and turned around towards the forest, thumping off with angry hood-beats until they were left in silence and shadow.

"You two stay here. Don't make a sound, I'll be right back."

Professor Longbottom wasn't gone for very long, but when he returned he was holding the bucket Arthur had dropped before fleeing. He didn't know if the professor had found the knife too, but he didn't say anything about it as the shield charm and the lights fixed to their robes were all waved away.

"Don't take this the wrong way, Kirkland, but I've never seen anybody run like that before."

"You've never seen Vargas at break time, have you, Professor?" Not the perfect time for a joke, but Longbottom simply looked at him for a moment before letting a half-smile pull at his face. He even brought a hand down on Arthur's head to ruffle his hair. It was offensively kind of him, and he picked up the other two buckets he hadn't seen at Rose's feet before leading them out of the forest and back up to the castle. He didn't even detour to drop the materials back off at the greenhouses, just kept walking while Rose continued to stare at Arthur silently for the entire trek.

"I'm afraid the Headmistress will have to be told about this, but despite it being Halloween I'd rather save the inquiry for tomorrow." Once they were back inside, Professor Longbottom was all easy smiles again when he turned around to look at them. "Miss Weasley, I think you've learned your lesson about fighting in the halls so you're free to head back up to Gryffindor tower. I'll escort Mister Kirkland back down to the dungeons, I need to drop all of this off at Slughorn's office anyways."

"Yes, Professor." Now that they were back inside, it was clear Rose Weasley was looking a little pale and rather unsure of herself. She nodded goodnight to Longbottom, looked at Arthur, and didn't seem to know what to do. "Um- good night then."

"Goodnight." She stumbled off and left without another word, and not being in the mood to talk Arthur started walking with the Professor back down into the dungeons.

Sadly, they weren't quite all the way there when Arthur had to stop and say something, eyes closed and words stopped up in his throat because he didn't know how to put them. Damn this childish form for not having enough energy to see him through a long day.

"Professor Longbottom, I don't mean to be rude, sir, but-"

"Yes, Kirkland?"

"I, well, you see sir..."

"Is this about Gorin's actions tonight? I've never seen one of their kind act like that before, if I'd thought there was any chance of either of you getting more than a splinter or a twisted ankle in the dark I-"

"Professor please-" God, there was going to be no way for him to explain this if he said it. This was only the second month of their first year in this place and if Arthur said the words that were bubbling up now that would mean another six years of not being able to explain himself.

He just wanted to say _'don't send me in to the forest again for any reason'._

He just _had_ to beg _'for Hogwarts' sake sir, whatever you do, don't ever send Vargas into the forest'._

But how was an eleven-year-old boy supposed to know enough about Scottish centaurs to tell his professor that the Italian student would be targeted and attacked far more ruthlessly than the English one had been tonight? It wasn't Arthur's fault Italy was carrying such an angry burden, literally, around his neck, but he was supposed to risk undermining this entire initiative just to protect him?

And when did Vargas ever get in trouble with anybody except Desford for sneaking out of his hospital bed because his injuries were already healed? In what twisted world would Italy ever end up irritating _Longbottom_ of all teachers, the one who wouldn't have given detention at all if he hadn't caught pPrefects throwing spells at each other in the halls?

"Kirkland?"

It just wasn't worth six years of grief to stop something that didn't have a chance of ever happening.

So to cover up all of his own foolish interruptions, Arthur opened his eyes up as wide as could be, took a few shallow breaths to make himself look flush, and lied.

"Please, Professor Longbottom I know it's a bother but- _please_, may I go up to the Owlery tonight and send a letter to my brother? It's after hours and all, but..." He even worked up a tear and did his best to wipe it away as fast as possible. "Please sir."

And sure enough...

"That's not a bother at all, Mister Kirkland." Neville Longbottom really did have the kindest of smiles when he felt like sharing them, much different from the bellowing voice of the forest. "I can take you there myself once I drop these off for Slughorn. Go get your things and I'll meet you in the great hall, in five minutes, alright?"

"Thank you, sir."

"Not at all, Kirkland. Run along now."

And he did.


	12. Happier Thoughts

**Lily's Theme.**

**At the end of this chapter there's a note about these wonderfully fast updates. **

**As always, I'm thrilled every time I get a review alert about this story! Thank you so much for the support!**

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_**Snakeskins**_

Happier Thoughts

"Don't go into the forest."

"Ve~?" Feliciano didn't have the head for England's crazy talk at too-early in the morning when the other nation shook him awake and whispered through the darkness at him with a warning.

"Whatever you do, so long as we're here as students, don't go into the forbidden forest."

"It's forbidden, why would I ever...?"

"Just _don't._"

That was literally all England was willing to say on the matter, which was even more frustrating than being woken up. Feliciano just had to press his face back down into his pillow, pull an arm around his familiar, and try to get back to sleep before the Giant Squid could come floating by their window to make a big fuss and wake them up for lessons.

Halloween at Hogwarts was worth writing back home about, because the holiday wasn't much of a holiday in his country. Pumpkins big enough to stand in, carved with freaky faces and enchanted to sing along under the floating candles that lit the great hall in its black and orange banners. Funny songs and enough food that Feliciano actually found a few things that pleased his pallet while students unveiled charms and games that left them laughing until they were too tired to think straight.

"Has anyone seen the Bloody Baron?" and ghosts, so many ghosts, funny and scary and good-natured and foul, all hovering about and poking their heads out of plates of food, washing themselves over students to get howls of surprise and laughter out of them. It was memorable, if a bit terrifying.

"Which one's the Baron?" He asked Zabini over an overflowing cup of pumpkin juice. The Prefect had been smiling, but then he'd stopped and asked his question.

"Our house ghost, but I haven't seen him yet tonight."

"I haven't seen him in weeks, to be honest."

And Feliciano had never seen him at all, which was why he forgot about the conversation completely as November opened up and broke the pattern of Howlers with Sunday breakfast.

_"__For the__ first time in over 100 years you won't be with me when I stand guard to remember them."_ Lovino's letter was long and carefully worded. It wasn't typed like some of the additional notes he often sent were, but hand-written on several sheets of their finest stationary, sealed with a stamp ring that was as old as their union as North and South Italy.

The next time the older students went down to Hogsmeade for an afternoon, Feliciano dug out the only gold galleon he'd brought with him to the school and asked the Slytherin Head Girl to please buy him a bottle of quality black ink and several sheets of excellent paper from the shop in town. Most first years usually asked for candy or games, but the Head Girl was less likely than the Prefects to pocket the change for the purchase, and the way he quietly asked her seemed to leave a solemn impression on the request.

His letter back to Rome for Remembrance Day wasn't quite as long as Lovino's because after the sentiment there wasn't as much for him to report back about. He did spend the rest of that night awake and standing by the fire in the common room, and with England to explain just enough to the other first years, he was left to hold his vigil all night without interruption.

He was back to his usual self the next day, if a bit sleepy for the long hours remembering the hiss of rain on smooth concrete and the creak of military boots, the melancholy of standing guard over a different flame in his capital fading by the next howler's arrival.

A week later he returned the favour for England, and the rest of November passed without comment.

He hadn't forgotten why they were going through with all of this though, not by a long shot. The Head Girl was a seventh year and Feliciano made the effort to fetch things for her when she needed something, or to make his reports to her especially so she'd remember him as that nice first year. Finally, with the first cold snow fall settling over the castle, Feliciano climbed up from the boys dorms late one night to find her sitting over a long parchment scroll, quill forgotten between her fingertips as she stared out one of the green windows at the ripples of the lake swirling darkly over the common room.

Unhooking his wand case from where it was stowed under his sleeve, Feliciano took a breath and made his move.

"Miss Pucey?"

"Oh-! What are you doing up at this hour, Vargas? First years should all be abed right now!"

She was a pretty girl with a sad face. He hadn't noticed it right away what with being stepped on all the time and avoiding howlers (the last one had included a gout of flame that got him a scary look from Professor Malfoy), but the Head Girl's wide eyes were never really open all the way, usually looking down despite her rank and with a sigh that always clung to the end of her words. She was a very nice person from what he'd seen, sharp when she wanted to be and not shy enough to be pushed around: he'd seen one of the other first year girls try it and get hexed so badly it took both Prefects and the Head Boy's help to put her fingers back in order.

But she was sad, and the way she looked up every single time Feliciano let out a word of Italian encouraged him to just quietly take the chair next to her at the cluttered table and set his wand-case down over the scroll.

The leather was old, not ancient, but at least seven or eight years of abuse had left their mark on the brass nods and the strap that was worn all along the edges. There were creases across it that came from it being bent the wrong way at least once or twice: like someone had tried or even succeeded at snapping what was inside.

Really, more than the quality of the leather, Feliciano wanted her to see the ornate "M. R." stamped on the body of it.

When he looked back up at her, Pucey's lips were trapped between smiling and weeping, her eyes closing a little where there was a bit of shine and her cheeks were going red. She shook her head and then looked at him, one hand half-reaching for the case before he complied and quickly removed his wand from it.

"You're just a little boy, where did you get this?" She took the case into her hands like it was something precious, her voice fleeting and full of hurt as her ink-stained thumb brushed over the initials.

"The Vargas and Rosetti families know each other." He'd been distant from the magical community for a while, but the faded connection had burned brightly right before the house's collapse. "When his mother found out I was coming to Hogwarts, she let me have it." Or rather, he'd found it in what remained of their house after a domestic clash in a powerful household led to its complete destruction. The cross at least really had been a gift.

"You knew him too?"

"I don't remember him." He lied, because he'd never known Michael Rosetti when he'd been alive but he remembered everything he'd seen and learned after his death.

"He was so good." She wiped her tears off on the edge of her robe and Feliciano didn't have a handkerchief to offer her. "I shouldn't tell you this but- but we dated, him and I, for a while."

"A while?"

"Two- three years?" That was not a while, that was so much more than a while and as soon as she said it with a forced smile she covered her mouth with the back of her hand and coughed to hide a sob. "I'm- I'm very good with hexes, but I- Victoire Weasley you know, she's much better at counter-curses." The Gyrffindor Prefect..? "I spent half of fifth year with- with troll feet, it was impossible to show my face. Michael was always there and- he almost got expelled for dueling over it. I had to break up with him."

She shook her head very hard, a few locks of dark hair coming out of the heavy braid wound over her head. She closed her eyes and muffled her voice with her wrist and sleeve up over her face, she was going to regret what she said next but Feliciano still wanted to hear it.

"I shouldn't have done that..." Her voice came out so small, it was like someone had taken a baby bird and tossed it from the nest before it was ready. "I really wish- _I wish_ _I hadn't done that..._ "

"Did he say anything to you before he-?"

"No... No... He didn't have a chance..." She looked at him again but Feliciano knew she wasn't looking _at him_, there was no way for her eyes to really focus on him when she was staring down a ghost.

"I told him to never speak to me again, not even during lessons or here in the commons." He hated seeing her cry, he hated watching children cry... "I told him and then I got on the train home for summer- I cancelled my trip to Italy, I spent all of last year ignoring him and then- _and then..._"

He debated giving the wand case to her, he seriously considered it and the urge to do so was strong when she gave up and just sat there crying. He wanted to do it, but then he knew how dangerous that would be.

To give a young girl a memento of lost love was as much a kindness as a curse. If he gave her grief something to latch on to, especially growing up in the magical world, she would have to be strong enough to overcome it or the emotions would manifest into something terrible. It was already dangerous enough to carry a dead man's memento and walk the same halls that had killed him, to sleep in the same bed where his mind had been poisoned and rent itself to pieces. He couldn't pass that danger on to her.

"_Sleep deeply, child._"

Instead he cast a sleeping spell under his breath while she sat there sobbing, letting her tumble into a dreamless, restoring sleep and taking the case back to hide again up his robes. He weighed one more option in his mind before turning his back on her to assume she'd fallen asleep while studying, but then gave in to the idea.

He obliviated her. Not very hard, but the memory charm would take away at least her last hour or so of memories. She'd wake up with dry tears on her face and a half-finished History of Magic essay. The two would explain each other in the morning, and to make sure of it he tipped her ink-well over so it dribbled down the side of the page.

After that, Feliciano Vargas went back to being the errand-running Italian boy with the happy smile.

* * *

Italy had earned himself several nicknames that all failed to achieve the proper school-yard sting concerning his weekly howlers. Arthur was actually getting bored listening to the Ravenclaws next to their table try to achieve anything that was better than _"Fratelino Feliciano"_ because all that literally meant was _"little brother Feliciano"_ in Italian and it was absolutely pathetic at riling the Slytherins up once Italy translated it after its first few days of use.

"It's kind of sweet when they call me that, like we're all one big family."

"Ew, gross, that's not it at all." Scorpius was laughing into his rice pudding as Feliciano swept the ash off the table from what would be South Italy's final howler of the semester, wand in hand to stave off anyone trying to touch the bubbling margarita pizza that materialized in front of him. "Speaking of families though..."

Scorpius wasn't very good at starting conversations on his own. He usually waited for someone else to start talking and then followed their lead whether or not it was in a direction he wanted to go. To have him actually pick a topic and start in on it was worth listening to.

"Have either of your families decided what you're going to do over the holidays?" Arthur and Italy had made no secret of the fact that they were going home over Christmas. It was going to be exhausting, but Arthur could already see the airline crest printed on top of a digital print-out of Italy's plane ticket back to Rome. Whether Romano had purchased an adult or child seat would be the last thing to decide whether Italy even bothered swinging back by Arthur's London townhouse before heading to the airport and out of the country.

"My family has the entire twelve days completely planned out, unfortunately." Not a lie in the least, but what followed next were white-lies all around. "Bristol for a Christmas party on the eighteenth, an old alumni celebration the next day in Edinburgh, then we'll be off to the continent for sight-seeing in the Netherlands and skiing somewhere in the Alps." He couldn't quite remember if the G8 summit would be in Vienna or Zurich, so it was worth it to be vague.

"If you think my brother's howlers are bad, you'd have to see his face if I told him I wanted to leave Rome before the very last minute to catch the train!" Italy said it with a smile and a little laugh, but after his next bite of pizza he dusted the fresh flour off his fingertips before adding tact to his refusal. "Maybe next year, Scorpius. Sorry."

"No no, it's fine." He did look disappointed, but there was nothing either of them could do about it. They weren't really going to be on vacation by any stretch of the imagination. "I haven't even asked my parents yet if I can go inviting friends over, just felt like asking since the train's next week. I think we're going to France for a bit anyways."

It was sad to let the poor boy down like that, but when Christmas vacation did hit there was zero hesitation as they boarded the Hogwarts express from Hogsmeade and were whisked back south towards London through the snow and rain.

It put a small damper on things not being able to speak plainly to each other with Scorpius sharing their compartment. With what felt like the _'real world'_ looming only a few hours away the children's games felt stale, both of them losing terribly at exploding snap and taking forever to make their moves at chess before Scorpius awkwardly gave up and let all three of them just sit and suffer in silence. Arthur's mind was nagging to open his bag and pull out the muggle paperwork burning a hole in his mind, because as soon as he could get rid of this charm after four agonizing months of it he knew he'd be headed straight to West Minster to see what was happening in his office and get himself caught up on every issue or wrinkle in the international community.

And Italy was much the same way, except for him it wouldn't be as simple as hailing a taxi from the town-house's steps, but a taxi, then the airport, then the flight down to Rome before he either went home or straight to his own office. They were up for the very first leg of a very long trip home, and it was impossible to relate that sort of stress to a child like the little boy sharing their compartment.

It made Arthur once again deeply regret this entire operation, because Scorpius only continued to sit and suffer there with them because they all knew there was _no place else_ for him to go. They were his school chums, his mates, his friends.

But he was a child, and they were _nations_.

It was all going to go terribly wrong at some point, Arthur could feel it almost as surely as he felt the transition between the Scottish lowlands and northern England. At least he was already home...

Platform 9 and 3/4s waited until the day was already over to materialize out the train windows, clouds of steam and crowds of waiting parents misted by foggy glass panes. Arthur forced himself to be a little bit more cheerful than he wanted to be and made himself laugh at one of Italy's jokes as they both tried to cheer Scorpius up after almost two hours of nervous fidgeting and stilted conversation.

Stepping foot on the platform, to their sweet relief, brought a familiar face in the crowd who was standing in a long black winter jacket with a blue scarf under his scruffy chin. Scotland raised a gloved hand when he saw them in their compartment's window, and once the train came to a final stop and the doors opened to begin unloading students, he was able to collect Arthur's bags before they were even properly off the train.

"Here, eat this." There were no hellos or how-are-yous, just a paper-wrapped deli sandwich that was still warm from the oven that had toasted the bread and melted the cheese. Scotland shoved one at each of them and used his knee to help lever Italy's trunk up onto a trolley so they could get going. Itabby's kennel was handled with a bit more care, and Arthur was trying to maneuver his mouth around a steaming bite of hot ham and tomato as Scotland moved directly onto business.

"Your plane leaves in two hours, Vargas, your brother's in the car so-"

"He's in London?"

_"Of course I fucking am!" _

Arthur nearly choked on what was in his mouth when he heard the voice, and Italy almost leapt right out his own skin when a bemused witch stepped out of the way of an irate young man in a tailored black jacket that was similar to Scotland's and yet so much more fashionable. There was at least one half-heard gasp and a gawking stare when South Italy's familiar voice cut the air, but he was just pulling off a pair of straight black sunglasses as he marched towards them and then stopped so he could stand there, hating everything around him.

"You-" And Italy was completely baffled, staring slack-jawed with his on-the-run dinner untouched and about to fall out of his hand. He had to blink twice and give his brother a complete once over from shoes to hair before he seemed to believe what he was seeing. "You're on the platform!"

"Yes I'm on the fucking platform, merry fucking Christmas to you too, asshole."

South Italy's response was an approximation for Arthur, because the older brother fired the words off in Italian and then opened his arms to catch the younger one when North Italy charged him and jumped up to get his arms around Romano's neck. The height difference between them had never been this dramatic before, and South Italy almost looked confused by the hug until something more important took over and he squeezed the small boy tight in his arms. Charmed effect or not, the embrace seemed to sooth both halves of the nation as they traded words and even a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Don't even think it, squirt." Scotland sighed, sounding fed up and exasperated already.

"I_ wasn't!_" Arthur harshly rebuked. "Why do you have to ruin everything like that?"

"_Waah!_ You're still a jerk!" Arthur looked back over and North Italy was on the ground, a look of pure betrayal on his face where South was pulling out his cellphone and looking annoyed at the complete lack of service on the platform.

"You're heavy, idiot. Now get up, we have to get out of here." Of course he'd catch his brother in a hug just to throw him down a minute later. Why else would Arthur be so wary of ever trying the same thing with Scotland?

"Two hours, people! Let's get going!"

"Mum! Mum! This way, they're over here!"

Scotland's declaration that they should leave at once through the crowd of wizarding folk was interrupted by a familiar young voice that caught Arthur and Feliciano's attention at once. When Scorpius appeared through the crowd, a dignified witch somewhere in her thirties hurried up behind him, dark lipstick looking classic on her full lips, brown hair done up with great care around her where a white mink hat was resting perfectly, the rest of her done up in a green winter robe with more white fur around the hem and cuffs. A Slytherin mother if there ever was one, Arthur was sure.

"Sorry," Scorpius panted, a hopeful kind of look in his eyes that Arthur found too crushing to ignore. "I know you said your vacation's fully booked, but-"

"Astoria Malfoy, Scorpius's mother, a pleasure to meet you." Mrs. Malfoy had the kind of confident smile that even Scotland found hard to ignore, his time-keeping skills not the best anyways as he lifted a hand off the trolley he'd been about to start pushing to accept the hand-shake, remembering almost too late to be polite and let it turn into a brief kiss on the back of her hand.

"Eeh-" He gave an awkward look at the Italian brothers, then remembered he still had the luxury of being an adult and found his voice. "Daniel Kirkland, the squirt's brother."

"Scorpius tells me you boys are heading out of town already, is that true?"

"Sadly ma'am it is."

"Vargas, why are you crying?" Being at Scorpius' height, it was easier to hear him than to stare up and listen to Scotland and Mrs. Malfoy exchange pleasantries. And lo and behold, Vargas was in fact simpering over something.

"He shoved me... my sandwich is ruined." He'd fallen on it, obviously.

"You're pathetic. There's better food waiting at home and you know it." South Italy still couldn't get a signal and had put his phone away. He seemed vaguely interested in what was passing between the other two recognizable adults, but was obviously still eager to get going and the conflict was clear on his face. He always was a sucker for beautiful, fashionable women.

Scorpius, meanwhile, looked absolutely petrified as soon as he heard South Italy's voice, and backed up so fast he ran straight into his mother's legs.

"That's _the Howler?_" He whispered, catching Mrs. Malfoy's attention as she looked down at him sharply for using such a strange name. Her smile returned at once, and it wasn't phony or forced at all, merely apologetic.

"And your name, sir?"

South Italy couldn't resist.

"Lovino Vargas, belladonna Malfoy." He took her offered hand quite graciously, and didn't hesitate to kiss it. "And the pleasure is all mine."

"_She's married._" Feliciano hissed under his breath in Italian, completely forgetting the sandwich. "_To our__** professor**__._"

That didn't really stop South Italy, but as much as he enjoyed a good flirt he wasn't without morals and straightened up to continue the conversation like a semi-civil adult.

"Signore Kirkland and I work in the same field. My brother just told me your husband works as Professor at the English school. What do you do, donna?" Flattery and attention could get you pretty much anywhere, especially if you had a perfect complexion and a husky voice.

"I help manage things at Saint Mungo's while my husband and son are at Hogwarts. Perhaps you've heard of our hospital?" The awkward pause that followed nearly killed the entire exchange because no, South Italy at least had no idea what Saint Mungo's was. Somehow he managed to recover without needing Scotland to jump in.

"My apologies, Madame Malfoy, I work closest with the muggle side of the Italian Government. I'm not well versed in medicine."

"Saint Mungo's does excellent work for the wizarding community across the British Isles, Mrs. Malfoy." So Scotland did intervene, tapping his watch with two fingers and getting everyone's attention. "And your labour is invaluable, but tea will have to wait until another time. Magic's restricted by our job code and if these two aren't passing through muggle security in less than an hour, they'll miss their flight down to Rome and then the _real_ trouble will start."

"It can't be helped then. Perhaps we can arrange something when the boys go back to Hogwarts?" Scotland and South Italy shared a look, and neither one seemed to know how to answer.

"I... will probably still be in Rome, belladonna." Apparently the only thing stronger than Lovino Vargas' will to flirt was his distrust of magic. He still didn't seem quite comfortable standing on the enchanted platform.

"I'll make enough effort for the both of us then." Scotland filled in the social gap left by South Italy's excuses and nodded his head, the three of them making polite farewells as Scorpius waved excitedly to the two of them from his mother's side.

"See you at start of term then!" At least he was smiling, it made the good-bye much easier to say.

"Of course. Happy Christmas!"

"Happy new year!"

And then they were off.

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**Scorpius poor baby you made the wrong friends.**

**UPDATES:**

**I plan to update Snakeskins in chunks going by year: this was originally a Tumblr project and that's still where the majority of the content is. I promised to move the story to FFN after completing the first year, then stop until second year was finished.**

**I'm currently at work on part 21 on Tumblr, which is just over half-way through year two. Ideally, you guys here on FFN won't notice any sort of slow-down with updates since Year 1 ends at chapter 15. However, since year 3 is longer you will probably be left without updates for a few weeks while I get that together (assuming I can keep the same pace I've had with years 1 and 2).**

**That's all from me tonight, leave a review and I'll get 13 queued up for tomorrow!**


	13. Wandless Wanker

**Yule Ball, Another Story, Harry in Winter, Brave, The Resurrection Stone.**

**I missed yesterday's update because I was exhausted after work. I'm sorry!**

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_**Snakeskins**_

Wandless Wanker

The next twelve days were really fast, really hectic, and really, really fun.

From King's Cross station they stayed no more than ten minutes at England's town-house, Lovino yelling at him the whole time as he stripped off his child-sized clothes and finally removed the cross and chain where they'd rested for a solid four months. The nausea was so much worse than the last time he'd taken it off, and if he hadn't heard Scotland panicking in the other room as badly as Lovino did when he found himself shaking on the floor, he would have thought something was seriously wrong with the charm.

"Eat this- no, I said eat. Shit, you're shaking! What the hell kind of magic did you put on that thing?"

"I'm fine..."

"Okay, next semester you fucking figure out a way to take it off every few weeks, understand? Just for an hour or two, Veneziano, I mean it."

They had to leave before he was really ready to stand up and walk around, but the taxi ride was manageable when he closed his eyes and leaned on his brother's shoulder. The airport was claustrophobic and filled with the stale air of travel, but the flight itself let him nap and wake up with nothing but the usual exhaustion and mild jet-lag of being on the go for eleven hours. They didn't go home after their flight either, but rather climbed into another taxi with Feliciano putting a tie on and trying to tug the wrinkles out of his jacket as a political aid handed him a file-folder and a small paper-cup of espresso to keep both of them on the go.

Feliciano had to run, actually run, to reach his government with Lovino so they could make it to the final sitting before the ministers and officials were dismissed for the holidays. After that it was a six hour meeting with the Prime Minister and President to discuss what had happened in his absence. Thankfully, there were no real surprises since Lovino had kept him informed, but there were lots of missing details and nuances to the things he was told.

"You'll both be in Turin tomorrow morning for the industry meeting, and after that you can enjoy the holiday."

"No, actually." Lovino corrected their bosses and Feliciano was just busy trying to take notes and stay awake. "We'll be on our way to Prague after that."

"The G8 nations will be meeting in Vienna on the nineteenth through to twenty-first." An emergency meeting, their bosses didn't have to come for but England and North Italy both did. "I haven't gone through half my e-mails yet, but I'm sure Germany will want to talk about things too."

Four months without seeing the other nations wasn't very long, it was being four months out of contact that made Christmas and New Years anything but relaxing times. Lovino, to his credit, really had handled the political side of things with only his letters and suggestions from the school to help him out, but it was obvious that he was just as exhausted by the role-reversal when he used that twelve days to stand constantly behind Feliciano and finally take a well-deserved break.

"There must be a way to contact you directly." Germany wasn't unreasonable, he was just saying exactly what Japan wanted while being more direct and to the point about it.

"You have to ask your wizarding departments for owls then, but I'm not sure how you'd get one to me all the way from Tokyo."

Christmas Eve was the first night Feliciano and Lovino actually spent alone, and he barely stayed up long enough to eat dinner before falling dead asleep on their couch with a half-drunk glass of wine and more paperwork spilling onto the floor when he rolled over trying to get away from the numbers.

He woke up on Christmas morning in his own bed upstairs, excited but absolutely exhausted to the point where he didn't question Lovino's voice behind him. His brother was sitting on top of the covers with more work in his lap and a red pen behind his ear, told him to go the fuck back to sleep, and even brushed a hand over Feliciano's hair until he gave up and slept the holiday away.

New Years was a lot more fun, because between visiting guests and a lot of wine there was dancing and fire-works all the way until midnight, and none of them went to bed before the sun rose over Rome the next morning and 2018 officially began.

He almost forgot that he had to say goodbye to Lovino again in order to go back to Hogwarts, and that was what spoiled the entire twelve days in the end. They spent their last night at home drinking wine after a meal Feliciano himself made, sort of a last-hurrah in preparation for not being allowed near another kitchen again until coming home. They even discussed why they were doing this again before finally letting the silence settle over both of them.

Feliciano hated good-byes. He could think of a few things he hated more, but good-byes were the worst when he landed in London and took a taxi to England's town-house. A familiar eleven-year-old face answered the door with sullen green eyes, welcomed him inside, and helped fix the charm around his neck.

They were on the train that morning from King's Cross station, Hogwarts looming in the distance.

* * *

Some adjustments were made to the charm before second term began at Hogwarts, not very dramatic, but just enough to keep suspicions down.

For one, they both grew three quarters of an inch.

For another, Arthur's watch was modified so that when it was quickly tapped three times with the point of his wand, the crystal face popped off and it sang a little tune.

As far as he knew no one except Higgs and a few of the other Slytherin boys had so much as noticed Italy's cross yet since he always kept it under his shirt, so there was no need to give it any extra tinkering beyond lengthening his limbs a little bit so they kept up with the rest of their classmates.

They weren't on the train for ten minutes before Arthur suddenly hit on why, besides the charm, he felt so dreadful and found the same deathly look on Italy's shrunken face.

"Did you drink?" He croaked.

"So much... too much."

"Wine or coffee?"

"Both... too much both." Because they were two things wizards either just didn't have, like coffee, or were forbidden to students, like alcohol. So they both looked and felt miserable until the compartment door opened up and a relieved young face was there to make them both sit up and grin.

"There you two are!" It was actually nice to see Scorpius after the holidays, he wasn't cute: he was refreshing. "Kirkland, my mum saw your brother on the platform but you were long gone. You don't really hang around to say good-bye, do you?"

"As a rule we Kirklands are unfriendly by nature and unapproachable to all family members." Arthur rattled off with a certain sense of pride, which was enough to get Italy laughing a little with his cat sleeping in his lap while he stroked the animal for comfort.

"What about you, Vargas? I didn't see, uh, _him_, anywhere."

"My brother's still in Rome for work, I came with Kirkland again like in September."

"And I thought _my_ dad worked a lot..." Scorpius seemed baffled by the idea that Italy had to come all the way from Rome on his own before getting on the train. "Say, I know it was just Christmas, but did either of you get all your homework done?"

"Homework?" They repeated the word in unison, and Scorpius just sat there looking at them like they'd both gone mad.

"There... The history of magic essay on the Goblin rebellion of 1704?"

Italy made a painful noise and slumped in his seat until his legs were bent out at the knees, cat bundled up in his arms and face in the oblivious animal's fur.

"And for Potions, we had to make the laughing draught."

"Well I guess my mark's shot for term." Arthur lamented, slapping himself in the face. An essay could be managed but there was no way he could brew a potion with his kit and materials locked up in his trunk under their feet.

"And then there was Transfiguration." Scorpius put on a scared look and stared straight at Italy, trying to smile through his nerves without getting very far. "I was actually hoping you could help me with that, Vargas. I've got a big box of matches with me and Transfiguration's your best subject, so..."

"Sure, I can do that. But do you have any parchment? Can we hand something in written in muggle ink?" He still had a pen in his bag from whichever conference he'd been to without Arthur during their time off, and he drafted a few lines of the half-foot essay with Scorpius frowning and telling him no, the Goblin Keep had been in Plymouth, not Portsmouth.

Arthur hurried his own essay up and promised to make up for stealing all Scorpius' paper when they got to school, the three of them sinking to the floor of the compartment so they could sit cross-legged and pull out their wands with a box of matches dumped on the carpet between them. Turning matches into bobby pins, a small but essential skill.

"Oh, hang on." Italy padded his sleeve where he was still wearing a blue jumper and black jeans instead of his house robes and grey school uniform. Obviously his wand wasn't there, so as the witch with the snack trolley came by and Scorpius and Arthur shelled out the money for study sweets, Italy went through his bag for his wand.

And then he stopped and went through it again.

"_Mio dio-_"

And then he dumped the whole thing out over the matches, highlighters and a calculator coming out along with discarded notes from an energy presentation China had given just before New Years. Of all the useless things to bring along, his dead cell-phone was sitting on top of the pile, and while Scorpius seemed baffled by the contents, Feliciano Vargas looked like he was about to be sick.

"_No._" He hadn't-

"Vargas you _didn't_."

"I forgot my -"

"How do you just _forget your wand!?_" It was the first time Arthur had ever seen Scorpius yell at someone, and Italy deserved every shrill word of it. "Are you completely daft? How did you even get here from Italy without it!? A wizard without his wand, a _pure-blood_ without his-!"

"Will you quiet down?" But as much as Vargas deserved it Arthur rose up to stop Scorpius from shouting quite so loudly, because if the entire train heard him then every student in the great hall would know before dinner time. "Do you have any idea how much the other houses would _love_ to hear you right now? Clam up and let's just finish the assignment."

"But Kirkland, he-"

"Yes, and he's a bloody fool, but I for one am not willing to lose points over the matter. Just pray he can get the fastest bird in the owlery, and that Longbottom's just got pruning and wandless work for us tomorrow!"

"Owls take _two days_ to reach Rome-" Italy moaned the words behind his hands where he was sitting in a piteous heap on the compartment floor, his face completely covered to hide his shame while Arthur and Scorpius looked at each other directly where they were standing.

"Now can I?"

"Yes, yes you can and I shan't get in the way." Arthur sat down again like the gentleman he was and swiped a chocolate frog off the pile of treats he was no longer willing to share.

"_YOU BLOODY MORON!"_

Italy did cry a little bit, and he was banished from the chess-board on the logical grounds that he couldn't draw his wand to figure out which side of the board to take. He also wasn't allowed to play exploding snap without a wand, and by the time they changed into their robes Arthur had turned his hair three different colours because the idiot had no way to counter him, and he'd successfully passed the skill on to Scorpius.

"_Enough! Stop it! That's enough you big bullies leave me the hell alone!"_

By the time they reached the school and the Great Hall, Arthur's intentions of not letting the rest of the first years know had fallen flat. All of Slytherin table found out and although most students didn't particularly care, enough of them got on Vargas' case that Head Girl Pucey came down hard on the table as a whole to make them shut up. Her reaction, of course, caused the Ravenclaws the pay attention, and it all spiralled out of control from there.

Even with McGonagall's opening speech and a few announcements about the new term, the Slytherin first years were required to walk in a ring around Vargas to keep any stray curses or jinxes from finding their way to him as they hurried at a half-run to reach the safety of the dungeons. Professor Malfoy was already seething in the common room when they arrived.

"I'm not going to ask why or even how, Vargas, I just expect that you already have a letter written to correct this?" Scorpius's father, they all agreed, was absolutely terrifying when angered and didn't even have to raise his voice to make Arthur deeply regret the shock of purple hair still sticking out the back of Italy's head.

"Yes sir, it's right here, sir." And Italy produced the letter between his sniffles and hurt feelings, the words written inside honestly begging South Italy to wrap up the wand and send it as fast as humanly possible to the school.

"I will be attaching my own letter making it clear that any excessive displays of discipline, in howler-form or otherwise, will not be tolerated, understood?"

"Completely sir, and I apologize again, sir."

"Very well. Now, Mister Kirkland, you have exactly ten seconds to remove that affront to this house from Vargas's head, starting now: seven, six..." That wasn't ten seconds at all!

Half an hour later after cleaning up and dressing down, Arthur found Italy face-down in his bed with the blankets piled up over him completely and Itabby, the retarded thing, purring happily on the small of its master's back.

"Vargas."

"_I don't wanna go to class tomorrow I really don't._" He sounded like a proper child, not a single hair showing from under the heavy winter blankets as his pillow muffled his voice.

"We can partner up and you can borrow my wand in Charms, you know."

"_It's going to be a disaster we both know your wand won't obey me._"

"You could use Scorpius'?"

_"He thinks I'm the scum of the earth."_

_"_No I don't."

Arthur was surprised when he looked up and saw Scorpius leaning on the other side of Italy's bed, one thin hand petting the familiar where the cat was too docile and somewhat wise to mistake the boy for a danger or a threat.

"I think you're foolish and completely absent minded, but that's about it, Vargas."

"_I'm missing the auto show for this my life sucks."_

"The what?" Scorpius looked at Arthur for an explanation, and he just shrugged and gave the honest answer.

"Muggle business. Loud machine things, quite fun if you've got the mind for them." The child looked revolted and Arthur just smiled and poked the blankets with his wand a few times, getting a squirm out of the nation hiding beneath them.

"Fine then, get some sleep and we'll worry about it in the morning."

And they did worry about it. In fact they worried, fretted, agonized, and made great efforts to stay out of trouble because of it, which wasn't easy considering Italy might as well have stapled a target to his back. They literally ran from class to class, Scorpius and Arthur dragging him to keep up, because when a Ravenclaw boy hexed Feliciano's History of Magic textbook to grow teeth and snap at him he had no way of calming the beast down and turning it back into a book, and wandless Binns was useless at doing anything more than taking points from Slytherin for disrupting his lecture.

He was safe enough in Herbology until a stream of water from a wand-tip killed his fireweed plant before he could get Scorpius or Gamp to hurry over and perform a spell to save it. Thankfully Professor Longbottom was more attentive than Binns, and although he didn't see who did it, he heard the snickering behind the Gryffindor pots and slammed his own house with a ten-point demerit: it was as good as losing fifty from any other teacher.

Blessedly, he was able to help himself in their Flying lesson on the fourth day of waiting for South Italy to please please please send a package back to the school. Yes, one of the Gryffindors cast an enchantment on Feliciano's broom to make it buck and roll wildly in the snowfall, but he didn't need Desford's help when centuries of riding horses made a bucking broom something he knew how to wrestle to the ground and dismantle with a small knife he'd started wearing at his belt to ward off curses. He wound up serving detention to string the broom's bristled back end together again, but he didn't lose any points and Desford didn't mother-hen him into oblivion.

After a week of nonsense, Arthur had never seen Albus Potter look so furious before. He was the splitting image of his father and just as courageous, maybe moreso, than the famous Auror.

Because it took nerves of steel forged in hellfire to stand up in the middle of the great hall one afternoon, march past Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables, be stared down by every member of Slytherin house, and find the brow-beaten young wizard with his head buried in his arms holding a letter from _Paris_ saying his wand couldn't be found until the end of the week because South Italy was in France for a business deal.

But that was exactly what Albus Potter did, a few of his family members standing up and horrified watching him enter a den of snakes, before he offered a hand to Italy.

"Stay... Stay behind after Potions class today, Vargas. I-" And he quickly looked back over his shoulder at his housemates. He saw something Arthur didn't in the faces watching him from across the hall, and frankly the Nation didn't know if he trusted the child all that much. "I don't want to cause an even bigger scene right now. I just- I'm getting sick of watching this."

"I'm getting sick of going through it."

A handshake and a cyrptic message and that was all Potter time for before he hurried back to his table and sat down at the very end of it. The Gryffindors were in a tiff and honestly no one at Slytherin table knew what to think either.

Before Arthur himself could think of something, Scorpius had already made up his mind.

"I don't care if he's the son of the Wizarding World's greatest hero, if he tries any funny business after class today, Vargas, I'll break his fingers I swear it."

They didn't leave him alone for a minute on the way to class, thankful that wands weren't necessary for potion brewing and Professor Slughorn was so far along in years that he barely heard any of the gossip or trouble going around the school anymore. Arthur doubted the old professor was even aware that five of his favourite students lingered in the classroom after everyone else was dismissed, because Slughorn ambled out and off to his office after chatting with them for ten minutes about slug clubs and growing up to great destinies and all that nonsense, leaving without looking back.

Potter wasn't stupid enough to wait alone, his cousin Rose was standing next to him and another Gryffindor Arthur didn't know was flanking him the same way Scorpius and Arthur himself were backing up Italy. If any of the Gryffindors attacked, they'd find themselves out-matched and Arthur wouldn't mind explaining it all in _precise detail_ to Headmistress McGonagall if necessary.

When he noticed Potter shaking a little bit like his nerves were showing up after his ballsy display in the Great Hall, Rose Weasley closed her eyes and let out an exasperated breath through her nose, sighing_ "this is stupid"_ under her breath and causing a sting in her cousin.

"No it's not." He answered sharply, staring straight at Italy before he swung a hand back to his wand.

Arthur drew his before the children had a chance, silent and not about to strike first, but he had the wand pointed straight at Potter before either of his friends were half-way to their own wands to head him off.

"Think very carefully about your next move, Potter."

"Honestly, Albus, I expected more honor from Gryffindor." Italy's voice dropped low in a way it usually didn't, and Arthur felt his ears perk up at the sound of it. It... usually didn't mean anything good when the nation of smiles and sunshine started taking issues _this_ seriously.

"I wasn't going to cast anything, I-!"

"A likely story, Potter. Drop your hand and I'll lower my wand."

"No! Just watch me." Arthur would have pulled back to let off a spell but Albus stomped his feet on the stone floor and turned so they could see where his wand-case was attached to his belt, not slung up his sleeve like normal. He used both hands and his actions were difficult to make out until all of the sudden he wasn't just holding the wand, but the entire case in both hands as he turned around properly again and shoved it out in Italy's direction.

"I'm sick of it!" He shouted, "I'm absolutely sick and tired of watching it! It was funny for a day or two watching you scurry around like you were scared of your own shadow, but that broom could have knocked your teeth out- or _worse_, and if Longbottom had thought you'd killed the fireweed yourself he would have failed you out of the semester!"

"Yes, but that doesn't mean you give your own wand away, Albus!" Rose Weasley had a low, angry voice sometimes that wasn't as threatening as the tone Italy had used a minute earlier. Arthur lowered his wand without putting it away, but while he watched the Gryffindors turn and start to bicker, Scorpius was staring at Italy.

"Is that really his wand?"

"It is, but I can't use it."

"What are you going to do with it?"

"A wand is all a wizard really has!" Rose yelled, "Without that you might as well just pack up and leave Hogwarts behind!"

"If all it takes is someone misplacing their wand to turn them into trash, then let's see how much Gryffindor laughs when I'm in the same boat as him!" That was… an astonishingly brave thing for the Potter boy to claim. "He can hold onto it until his actual wand gets here, and when he gets his wand back I'll get mine. I know he can't use it: the want chooses the wizard and all that, but Slytherin or not and wandless or not he's got as much right to be here as the rest of us!"

"Is that what you think I should do instead, Weasley?" Italy never, ever jumped into an open conflict, but he didn't squeal or cower away from this one as he barged right through Potter's argument. "Go get my trunk and leave the school because I'm nothing without a bit of wood and hair? For such a smart witch you're a very petty child." Rose looked absolutely disgusted to hear those words come out of his mouth.

"How dare you, Slytherin."

"How dare you, Gryffindor." The charm could only do so much to hide his age, because an adult scolding a child would always sound like an adult scolding a child. "A wand is not all a wizard has; a wizard also has his integrity, his pride, his honour, and his friends, and if you can't understand that then Gryffindor house needs to revaluate what it stands for, because this is the very first time I've seen anyone in red robes come close to those expectations."

Children weren't supposed to speak like that, they could understand those virtues but being able to put them into words so readily wasn't a skill Feliciano Vargas should have had, but the person beneath the charm certainly did. And he also had the dignity to look back at Albus Potter and offer the wand back to him.

"Thank you for the gesture, Potter, but I would rather see you use this wand to defend people like me, not throw it away to pity us." Albus looked speechless, but his friend standing next to him quickly elbowed him to take the wand back where Italy was holding it carefully in both hands. As soon as it was passed back to its wielder, Italy quickly addressed everyone again. "We're leaving, don't follow us. Let's go."

Italy swept out of the room first and Arthur and Scorpius quickly turned to follow him, Arthur lingering just long enough to meet Rose Weasley firmly in the eye before nodding to Potter to show he agreed with what had been said. The Gryffindors didn't say anything or try to stop them from leaving, and the Slytherins didn't say anything until they were several long corridors away and standing outside the alcove with their house mascot writhing on the wall getting ready to let them in.

Scorpius broke the silence first, and he sounded almost in awe.

"That... that wasn't foolish at all, Vargas. I mean- _wow_. You really told her off!"

"It's nothing to be proud of, Scorpius." Italy answered quietly, his voice still serious and his eyes focused on the black void opening up in front of them as the walls parted. It was obvious he just wanted to get into the dormitory and put this entire day behind them.

"It's not? I mean, you really could have one-upped Potter by taking his wand away you know."

"I could have." Italy agreed, taking the lead when the portal opened up just enough to let them through into the safety of the Slytherin commons. "But I just don't like being pitied."

* * *

**I love Italy I just do.**

**Leave a comment down below? Lemme know what you guys think? I'll see you tomorrow with the next update!**


	14. Den of Snakes

**Snakeskins Playlist**

**I finally had a EURIKA moment on tumblr and remembered Itabby's not-stupid name Gino. It'll be a while until I can come in and properly edit out the Itabby references and replace them with the proper name, but from this point on there should be no more errors!**

* * *

_**Snakeskins**_

Den of Snakes

When the blessed day in late January arrived when Feliciano received his wand back, he knew he didn't act the way everyone else in Slytherin expected him to.

The confused looking owl who usually delivered his mail wasn't Italian in origin, the trip was too long so the animals switched off at different owl posts across Europe, handing off their parcels and taking a rest. But the shy grey animal with its crooked neck and soft feathers brought the wand and delivered it safely into his hand, along with the expected parcel of Roman paperwork, but no Howler.

Apparently Professor Malfoy had a way with words that even Lovino didn't want to mess with, not that that'd stopped him from writing a normal letter anyways.

'_MORON'_ was one word that took an entire sheet of paper, the thick black marks jagged trying to convey the depth of emotion Lovino wasn't allowed to shriek at him this month. The next sheet was plenty abusive, but the succeeding ones were much nicer and almost sounded sorry that he'd had to go through so much trouble without the wand (while still maintaining that he was an idiot and it was his own fault blah blah blah).

But because there was no howler, no one else in the Great Hall seemed to notice it was there. And because Feliciano didn't get up and jump around with excitement, when any of the older students noticed, he put his finger up over his lips as a signal for Slytherin house to remain quiet.

"What are you planning?"

"Vargas?"

England and Scorpius were suspicious, but they also got up and followed him when Feliciano signalled for them to come with him across the Great Hall to the Gryffindor table. Breakfast was wrapping up and students were drifting off to their first classes, but the first years in their two houses had study period now that the weather was deemed too foul for flying in the morning. Potter was easy to spot with a potions essay out in front of him and Rose Weasley playing with her wand trying to set a self-polishing charm over a set of teaspoons.

Feliciano signalled for his friends to be quiet and quickly stepped right up to the table.

"Potter."

"Why's a Slytherin asking?" Albus looked up from his homework, but he wasn't the one who answered. That privilege went to an older boy with black hair and a self-assured slant where he was leaning on one arm over the table.

"I meant Albus." Feliciano corrected.

"But you said _Potter_, and that means me too." Ah, so this was the older Potter boy.

"_James._" Albus groaned, rolling up his parchment and standing up where he was on the same side of the table as the Slytherins. Albus Potter's nervous little fidgets were all back, but even though he had to swallow hard to clear the way for his words, he did speak. "Sorry, Vargas. What is it?"

"I just wanted to know if you remember what I told you in the Potions room a few days ago." The boy looked like he wanted to crawl under a big rock and not come out again, but he nodded.

"Yes, Vargas. Every word of it, I think." Whether to Albus' credit or something else, Feliciano had actually lived an incident-free week when it came to his lessons with Gryffindors. Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were another matter, but it was nice having at least an hour or two not trapped in the Slytherin commons where he didn't have to watch his back the entire time.

"Then I want you to know that if you ever need my help at this school, you have it." And Feliciano offered his hand with a smile, a little tired of trying to make friends with children who wanted nothing to do with green robes, but Albus seemed more surprised than affronted, so maybe he just wasn't as prejudiced as his cousin.

"I, I..."

Or his brother.

"Hey, Wandless!"

Feliciano didn't look, he just felt his eyes fall a little and a sigh get half-way out of him before James Potter let a spell off his wand. The hand he'd offered up was flung to the side and pushed Scorpius back, the other locked around Arthur's wand-wrist and pulling him away too. He'd rather take the curse with both hands full than get Slytherin into anymore trouble.

But Feliciano didn't take the curse, Albus did.

Because Albus Potter closed his eyes, wound his shoulders up tight, and stepped straight into the line of fire between Feliciano and his brother's wand to take the gout of off-yellow light straight in the back. The blow made him stumble a little bit but didn't seem very painful, Feliciano too shocked and impressed to say anything before the curse took effect.

"Albus?" Potter went very pale, opened his horrified green eyes up again, dropped his jaw, and vomited a massive, slimy green slug onto the Great Hall floor.

The Republic of Italy made a sound of utter revolt as his stomach backflipped, screamed _"ENGLISH CHILDREN ARE MONSTERS",_ and fled the scene at once.

* * *

Albus Potter was worth more respect than he seemed to get. Even Scorpius, who had his own myriad of reasons to distrust the name, had to admit that the younger Potter brother wasn't all that bad.

As January and February marched steadily by the weather repeatedly thought of improving before dumping another cold rain on their heads or suddenly freezing in the dead of night. It made having a common room under the lake both good and bad because, despite being absolutely air-tight, the dorms were still made of stone. No matter how deep as the lake was this late through winter it was absolutely frigid all the way to their windows, and probably further down since the dorm actually rested on a sunken cliff, not the actual lake-bed.

So yes, it was cold in the Slytherin common room. And it was absolutely freezing in the first year dormitory.

"Well, did any of you think of activating the heating charms?" The what-now? "_Honestly._"

Bless Zabini for having the patience to deal with first years. He showed them how damned easy it was to perform a simple wand-flick at the room door, lighting up the eyes of the brass snake mounted on the stone slab. The effect was subtle, but it made the four boys feel like absolute idiots for not noticing that any of the other door six doors had been glowing like that for _weeks_. At least it meant they got a decent night's sleep again as February melted into March.

"Slytherin tradition really, see how long it takes the first years to figure out the charm." Higgs' older brother was in sixth year and explained it to them once Zabini decided he'd had enough of their ineptitude and left the commons to study for his NEWT exams. "My year has the best story I think, we broke the charm on the Girls dormitory and stole all their bedding. Caused an absolute massacre that night, Angelique-"

Thomas Higgs lost his voice in the middle of his sentence, saying a name Arthur didn't know until he remembered all at once why that was. He looked at Italy and saw the other nation wearing a tragic expression, fully aware of the way Italy never forgot or even let the reality of their mission slip from his mind. Without prompting from any of the first years, the older student picked his story back up with a brave smile.

"Angelique was a true monster, she came blazing right into the boys dorms yelling in all this angry Italian and firing curses off her wand. Turned my entire wardrobe pink, she did! I was a laughing-stock for weeks until mum sent me new work robes. In the end her brother was the one to show us the heating charm because he had to physically drag her out here and put her in a full body bind until she calmed down."

"Was she always scary like that?" Italy asked, his voice either feint by design or because the subject hurt him to talk about. Higgs' brother just shook his head.

"Naw, cute as a button that one most of the time, unless you made her mad. Charlie tells me that girl Gamp in your year's a bit of crier but Angela woulda set her straight and probably hidden her under her robe. Worse temper than Pucey, though. None of us... really saw it coming."

Gathering up bits and pieces like that about the Rosetti children worked as well as the work-packages from home to rip Arthur and Italy out of the illusion of being Hogwarts Students. The charm was such a constant thing that after a month or two it was hard to notice anymore, and their unfamiliarity with Hogwarts before arriving as children made the scale seem almost natural. The professors were as unapproachable as wizards often were to muggles, figures of authority not unlike military personnel or government bureaucrats with set jobs and specific protocols to follow.

But remembering why they'd come was what reminded them that they weren't here to get along and make friends and pass exams. Italy had a small book he kept in the breast pocket of his robes, occasionally scribbling words in it whenever Arthur saw him speaking to older Slytherins about one thing or another. He even picked up a tidbit of some sort from Professor Malfoy, because when Arthur joined him and Scorpius in the hospital wing one afternoon when he decided they were taking much too long to fetch a warming potion for Gamp's sneezing, Italy was sitting on a tall stool with his ankles crossed, book in his lap and a small quill spinning between his fingers getting notes down in short-hand Italian.

He never let Arthur read what was written, but it was obvious he was still taking his inquiry seriously.

March passing slowly into April was what prompted Arthur to try and broach an important subject with Italy: just how long were they going to keep this up for?

You'd think it would be easy to have a private conversation at Hogwarts school.

You'd be very wrong.

For one, there was Scorpius to consider. It was rude and a little bit frightening to turn around and see how both of your friends had gone off and abandoned you for a chat. It was also dangerous for Slytherins to be caught alone in the halls or out on the grounds. They couldn't just _leave_ him somewhere and go off for a bit of gossip.

There was also their age and the damned cap on their energy levels: staying up all night was positively out of the question. Exams were looming and the sixth and seventh years were perfectly capable of staying up all night and going off to classes the next day without a wink of sleep, so the common room was never empty. Higgs was also an impossibly _light_ sleeper so trying to discuss something in their dorm room was like trying to shuffle cards without letting them rustle against each other.

Passing notes was dangerous because for one, it would be committing the secret to writing. Vanishing ink also didn't help: they tried it one afternoon in the library when Scorpius was serving detention for _'accidentally'_ hitting one of their Ravenclaw classmates in Defense Against the Dark Arts with the stunning spell they'd learned, not the sleepy old gremlins the professor had brought in for them to practice the technique on.

They got to the first _"why?"_ before the ink proved an inconvenience, one because it was a lot of writing for Italy to get his thoughts down, and two because the damned ink started vanishing before he'd gotten half-way through. With Gamp sitting next to them they hadn't had much choice but to just give up and finish doing government work under their completed History essays.

_'But what about the toilets'_ you say? Yes, what a fine idea. You try having a jolly old chin-wag in the lou when you already know from experience that the bathroom in the dungeons is not for lingering in, and the other five or six they had access too were either in high-traffic areas of the school or patrolled by at least one unfriendly ghost who wouldn't hesitate to question why two Slytherin boys had an _awful lot_ to say to each other.

Arthur very nearly crawled into Italy's bed one night to just hiss in his damned ear, but Higgs rolled over as soon as the lights on Italy's bed flared up at Arthur's very awake touch, so it was a loss.

How the Golden Trio ever got anything done in their time at Hogwarts was a mystery to Arthur Kirkland, because as a Slytherin first year he hadn't noticed before how _damned impossible _it was to sneak off with a friend and have a serious talk absolutely free from discovery.

By the end of April they'd settled for just chewing angrily at each other over the table at meal-times, their latest attempt at trying to morse-code the conversation having resulted in Italy's fingers being glued together in Charms class when one of their Hufflepuff classmates made a big fuss and Flitwick agreed that one more tap would earn him a punishment. He might as well have been wearing a mitten on his left hand.

"What's the matter with you two?"

So Arthur thought screw it and just asked the damned question over Scorpius' curious head.

"Do you want to stay or not?"

"I do."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not satisfied yet."

"How much more is it going to take?"

"The story doesn't make sense. I'm not leaving until it does."

"Fine."

"_Fine._"

They were going to need a proper sit-down over the summer then.

"...You two are bloody mad. Pass the sausage, Vargas."

Exams came up quickly, which was as much a surprise as a relief because it felt like the second half the year sped by without nearly as much drama as the first. If either Arthur or Italy had scored anything less than Outstanding then they would have been obligated to snap their wands and perhaps even resign from their governments. So instead of fretting about their own marks, save Italy in History of Magic, they made it their goal to make sure the rest of the first years passed all of their courses.

"I don't remember anything about the Goblin Rebellion of 1404."

"That's because there wasn't one you _idiot._" Their plan meant dragging the other first years out of the commons to hide in one of the deeper corridors of the library, a round table and a few noise-suppressing charms to keep the studious chatter from getting them found-out providing an excellent environment for revision and note-taking. Not everyone came, of course, Higgs couldn't be bothered and one of the girls simply refused to leave the dormitory after getting in a terrible screeching match with one of Rose Weasley's friend earlier that week. Arthur looked up from his copy of the quarterly stock-market reports hidden under his astronomy text and backed up Scorpius' criticism of Italy's awful grasp of English magical history.

"Feliciano Vargas," he scolded, "If you fail History of Magic I'll expect to see you outside Ollivander's in September to buy a new wand after breaking your current one in a dozen pieces."

Italy just sniffed at him.

"First of all: I would never buy an English wand. Second, I would never break this one: you confuse me with my brother." It was almost like he heard the words half a second _after_ everyone else did, because Italy closed his eyes for a moment to show he understood how stupid that comment had been when they were sitting at a table full of magical children.

"_What?"_

"You're not serious, are you, Vargas?"

"Broke his wand? Was it an accident? Did someone attack him?"

"That's the one who sends the Howlers all the time? How's he do it without a wand?"

"It-" Italy had no right to look at Arthur as if he was somehow going to help get him out of this mess. Arthur just pulled his textbook down a little further and made a point of circling something interesting on the chart with the nub of his quill. "It was a long time ago, everything's fine now."

"Is that why you knew how to handle things when your wand was missing?" Gamp asked, looking horrified at the idea of her own wand being snapped where she'd picked the holly rod off the table where it had been resting after her charm's practice. "Kirkland jinxed that little knife from Hogsmeade for you, but you gave him the instructions on how to, right?"

"Pardon me, Eliza, it was my own spell thank you."

"From the Standard Book of Spells." She shot back, unusually talkative for once as she put on a cocky little grin and stuck her tongue out at him before looking back at where everyone else was sticking Vargas with yet more questions.

"My brother works with muggles every day, and most don't know about wizards or magic or anything." Being vague wasn't going to work on their house-mates, so while everyone else's eyes started going wider and wider, Italy just spelled it out for the lot of them. "Our house is all muggle items with muggle rules and no spells or enchantments on anything. I can remember the last time I saw my brother use his wand, but it was a long, long time ago."

More like two decades ago, and whenever South Italy had last touched his wand had probably been right before he'd done exactly what Arthur had only meant as a joke this time: he'd snapped it and sworn never to let that kind of dark magic affect his people again. If Arthur wanted to be honest with himself, he'd admit that he'd placed such a heavy set of enchantments over his own wand hoping to accomplish much the same thing. Where South Italy and England differed was the positive relationship Arthur still tried to maintain with his wizarding population. The status of magic in Italy wasn't something he was privilege to.

"That sounds dreadful." Scorpius complained, still paying attention to Italy and pulling an awful face of sympathy and disgust. It was like he'd just been told his friend ate out of dumpsters and slept in a mouldy card-board box in the park. "You should try coming to my house this summer. Malfoy Manor's huge!"

"I'll ask him about it."

"Is it true you've been in a muggle flying machine before, Vargas?" One of the other Slytherin girls sitting next to Gamp asked.

"Ah..."

"Scorpius was telling us once that that's how you get to London every time from Rome."

Italy fidgeted nervously for a few seconds, but then he put on a bashful little smile that made him seem much cuter than he really was, his head tilted to the side as he gave an exaggerated shrug.

"Like I said, my brother and I live without magic most of the time. Airplanes aren't that bad once you get used to them."

The table didn't erupt with chatter, it was more like the noise and excitement welled up slowly but with enough force behind it to let Arthur know not to bother getting in its way. It was rather like watching sea- water rise into a cave and wash through the tidal pools. You could kick up all the fuss you wanted, but it wasn't going to make the slightest bit of difference in the end.

"You don't happen to have a copy of the Laughing Draught recipe over there, do you, Vargas?" He asked instead, talking around the curious whispering and the dumbstruck stares. Instead of being revolted, even Scorpius seemed mystified and maybe even curious through his horror. What a strange thing indeed, wizards willingly going about like muggles. Why, thirty years ago that would have branded the entire Vargas family Blood-traitors, wouldn't it?

Vargas and Kirkland, to be more precise.

And the rest of their kind too, most likely.

* * *

**Tomorrow's update is the last for year one, then I'll have to pause updates until year two is complete! Sorry for the bad news, but between work and going around with friends I just haven't had the time...**

**Thoughts or feedback on this chapter? See you tomorrow!**


	15. End of Year One

**Going Home, Snakeskins Playlist.**

* * *

_**Snakeskins**_

End of Year One

"Another year has gone by, leaving today with everything to be remembered." The end of term feast arrived with great sighs of relief from the students and several ever-changing itineraries for Arthur and Italy from their contacts beyond the wizarding world. It seemed the UN couldn't make up its mind about when and where they wanted to come together for the next meeting, and in the meantime the G10 were in a pickle after a sour election had Canada standing without a proper government.

The Great Hall was filled with silent students as Headmistress McGonagall gave her speech, Arthur expecting at any moment to hear about her long-awaited resignation, but it never came.

"In fourth place this year, with three hundred and ninety seven points: Slytherin house!" Their own table clapped the most for that announcement, only one or two of the politest Ravenclaws or Hufflepuff's joining in for the short thunder of appreciation for coming in fourth, otherwise known as last. The winning house was already quite obvious: all one had to do was look up at the banners decorating the hall to find the answer.

"In third place, with four hundred and twenty nine points: Hufflepuff house!" At least a difference of only some thirty points made the sting a little easier to bear. Arthur wouldn't lie and say Slytherin applauded the other house very hard, or that they kept on nearly as long as the supportive hoots and hollers from their great hall neighbours.

"Second place, Gryffindor house with four hundred and eighty-six points!" The entire school shook, thunder and pounding stomps with outrageous glee making the hovering candles tremble in the air. Arthur could smile a little this time, because at least the most obnoxious house in the school hadn't won, and in a way it was still nice to listen to them cheer and be pleased with their own performance.

"And this year's House champion, with an outstanding five hundred and five points: _Ravenclaw!_" Ravenclaw table was an explosion of noise in the middle of the hall, hats flying straight up in the air. Hufflepuffs were beating the table with their forks and knives, Gryffindors were bellowing at the top of their lungs, and because Ravenclaw was not Gryffindor, Head Girl Pucey was beating her hands together with a look on her face that said if the rest of the house didn't match her, they'd have their tongues turned inside out before dinner was served.

There were no hard feelings about being dusted with blue confetti and having special cakes with bronze and blue icing served up as desert alongside the usual fare of roasted lamb and mashed potatoes, summer fruits and steamed vegetables filling plates as all the ruckus about summer and holidays kept the great hall buzzing for everyone's final night at Hogwarts. Even Arthur and Italy were able to set aside the issue of next year and the inquiry to enjoy themselves, cheers with chilled pumpkin juice telling each other _"Next year! Next year we'll get it for sure!"_

For Slytherin, the celebration didn't last quite as long. There was less to pride themselves over and their table began to empty first, the same familiar clusters and cliques melting away one after the other, the first years taking point and looking up when Zabini started calling names and gestured for them to follow him. For safety's sake, they moved as one group through the halls and down into the dungeons.

"Professor Malfoy." They expected sleep to be the only thing left for them when they got there, but Scorpius' bemused father was once again standing in the middle of the commons. He had been talking to one of the graduating students, congratulating them by the looks of things, but he turned around as soon as the first years and their Prefect arrived, and he seemed rather surprised as his eyes combed over the lot and settled on the student on Arthur's left.

"Mister Vargas," he called Italy's name easily enough, a good sign that Arthur could relax because the idiot wasn't in trouble. "Professor McGonagall asked me to fetch you. She assures me you aren't in any trouble, but you're still to come at once."

"Oh? Well, okay." Okay he said and Arthur nearly slapped a hand over his own face. How the moron could stand there and act like he didn't know exactly what the summons was about either meant he was becoming an excellent actor, or he really was dumb as bucket of moon-wart.

Arthur wasn't privileged to go along and hear whatever Professor Malfoy had to say to Italy along the way to the Headmistress' office, and to be honest his tiny body was too exhausted to stay awake long enough for him to come back. The only thing he did have the energy for, barely, was Scorpius.

"Please- _please-_ one week, just _one week_ please you've got to-"

"_Scorpius._"

_"Oh come on!"_ This ruse was going to be the death of him, because Scorpius Malfoy had a pouting, pleading look about him that put Sealand to shame. "Three days. You have to come visit my family for at least _three days_ over summer holidays, you have to."

"And if I don't?" He challenged, only to have his hopes fall when Scorpius screwed himself up to his full height and stuck his chin in the air like a proper Pure-blood princeling.

"Then I shan't speak to you again." Arthur had to think long and hard about that threat for a good ten seconds, half-changed into his pajamas and rumpling his school clothes up in a ball to toss in his trunk for tomorrow morning.

"Will you be taking that other idiot with you then?" He snarked back, and watched Scorpius's argument collapse on itself.

"You can't be serious! You're going to be busy for two whole months?"

"I keep telling you, Scorpius, I_ don't know what _my brother's planning."

"You can't even promise to _try?_"

"Did you even bother to ask your mum this time before inviting me?"

"Yes." And oh how smug he looked when he said it too. This was impossible. "My dad too and he says it'd be an excellent way to spend the summer. So will you at least ask?"

Arthur surrendered.

"Fine. I'll ask, and I'll fight for it too since I know that's what you're really asking." Watching him brighten back up all at once was more rewarding than Arthur was ever going to dare admit, even in his own stubborn heart.

"Three weeks?" He preened.

"One."

"Two and I'll leave you alone all day about it tomorrow." For Christ's sake...

"Deal." As long as Italy didn't find out how Arthur'd been worn down by a twelve-year-old boy he could still hold his head up on the train the next morning. He fell asleep hard with a stomach full of good food and the sweet buzz of the party lingering up high over the Slytherin dorms in the Great Hall.

For all its darkness, he couldn't say he regretted this first year of Hogwarts at all.

* * *

Minerva McGonagall was a wise woman, she knew what was going on at her school, and she hadn't made a fuss about Feliciano's identity when he'd spoken with her on his last night in the school.

In fact, as soon as Professor Malfoy had left the two of them alone, the headmistress had produced an adult-sized set of clothes and enchanted a changing screen to hurry over and give him a bit of privacy. She'd pardoned herself for preferring to speak to him as an adult, and Feliciano had forgiven her the terrible nausea of removing the enchantment only to put it back on an hour later after their discussion was finished.

"I guess it's easier to take an adult's face seriously?" He'd asked, a little disoriented and wearing borrowed clothes, and had taken a seat across from the Headmistress's wide desk.

"I do my best to pay all of my students the respect they deserve, Mister Vargas." He had a sense that Minerva McGonagall was not meant to be a frail or breathless witch, but her majesty was shaken after a very long night and she seemed more exhausted than at ease while speaking to him. "Where threats and challenges to this school are concerned, however, I prefer to face those head-on."

So they had talked. They'd both agreed that it was too early for Feliciano to give a concise report, especially with the dizzying effect of the charm still swimming around his head, but instead of promising to deliver his inquiry to her sometime over the summer, Feliciano delayed it.

"Next year, maybe."

"_Next_ year, Mister Vargas?" Oh, and when her voice trembled so subtly that he almost missed it, he knew what kind of weight he was bringing down on her. "Your inquiry is not finished?"

"Not yet, Madame."

"An entire year spent masquerading as a student and still you aren't satisfied?" She spoke harshly, and rather than reprimand her for it Feliciano pulled on his sense of sympathy and tact to ease her fraying nerves.

"Headmistress, I understand that this operation caused you to remain at Hogwarts when you'd hoped to leave the school and retire. Please, it is clear even to a stranger like myself that you are exhausted, do not let my presence force you to continue working. The issue is much larger than a single witch or wizard."

His words didn't end up having the effect he'd hoped for.

"Mister Vargas, with all due respect, sir," not that there seemed to be much respect, especially when her tongue gave a sharp Scottish trill to the last word. "When you purposefully enter my school with intentions to dismantle our hard-won reputation as a safe haven and provider of outstanding education, that is not something I can be expected to turn my back on and simply walk away from. If yourself and Mister Kirkland are committed to spending another year at Hogwarts carrying on with this charade, then so be it. Hogwarts will prove itself in the end and I will be here to see these trials through to what will be a most satisfying conclusion."

She'd spoken to him with the kind of confidence that, much like the year before when he'd arrived in the wake of horrifying news, Feliciano found himself acknowledging a grudging respect for the sorceress. Whatever kind of soul was hiding inside such an old, stubborn vessel wasn't the tiniest bit afraid to face down a foreign nation. Once their discussion had ended, Feliciano had been dismissed to go back behind the screen and transform back into his disguise, then leave and make his way back down to the dungeon for a restless night of nearly-no sleep.

Apparently if they removed the charm for a little while it brought their endurance back up to adult levels. It meant sleeping at ten o'clock after an easy day was just too early for a decent night's rest.

Waking up on the day they were set to go back was like a relief, and hundreds of Hogwarts students flooded the Hogsmeade train station trying to get on the express without losing pets, friends, or their sanity. England had told him months ago that the class of first years was unusually small, but it seemed like a necessary thing considering there was almost no chance at all of finding a compartment to themselves this time.

Prefect Zabini opened his compartment door to seven lost first years and performed his very last kind act of protection for the year, shuffling another of his sixth year friends out with an exasperated look and no small bit of complaining from the other student. There wasn't close to enough seating for seven when Feliciano chose to sit on the floor instead of up on the seat where Higgs loudly claimed a spot by the window and everyone else piled in on top of each other, but before the Prefect vanished he turned around in the doorway with a warning.

"Now listen here, you lot." He put on a stern face, but the rest of them weren't too sure how serious he really was. When he started speaking, it cleared things up right away: they'd better pay attention. "Starting in September you won't be first years anymore, you'll be in second, and that means the rest of the house won't be able to afford to look out for you the same way. There'll be a new bunch of first years in the dungeons, and it'll be your job to look after them same as you were this year. Let Slytherin down and I'll make you regret it, understood?"

"Yes sir!" And it was cute watching the five actual children in the compartment look petrified by what they'd just been told. Whatever anxiety the Prefect left them with faded by the time they were well on their way back to London and everyone shelled out the last of their school money to raid the snack cart when the same old witch as always came toddling by the door.

"I like Zabini, I hope he makes Head Boy next year." Everybody paused a little bit to look up at Higgs when he spoke around a mouthful of cauldron cake, Feliciano was personally too caught up trying to convert how much wizard money they'd just spent into Euros. This was a _lot_ of candy.

"I thought you wanted your brother to get it instead?"

"Don't tell 'im this, but Tom's a bit too stupid for Head Boy."

The games were a little cramped with too many people in the compartment, but Feliciano got to return a nearly-forgotten favour to England and caught him in the side of the head with a jet of water when a particularly loud snap from the card game set a lock of his blonde hair on fire.

"You idiot!"

"You're the one who leaned over!"

"So everyone, this summer..." Scorpius was absolutely hell-bent on getting anybody to come visit him over the summer. Feliciano was surprised when England boldly announced in his fed-up kind of way that yes, he was going to spend a week at Malfoy Manor some time over break.

"I can ask my mum." Higgs had a slow way of answering the question, but he didn't put up the same fight Feliciano had to: he would be travelling all the way from Rome, and it just didn't seem feasible when he'd rather spend the same amount of time in Berlin.

"You've got your own broomstick, right Higgs? Bring it along and we can go flying in the woods around the house!"

"Definitely. Make sure you bring yours too, Kirkland." England was trying to focus on his chess game and completely ignore the issue. Feliciano had already decided that he would rather eat nothing but plain bread and bland pork roast for the next six years than make the investment in a racing broomstick just to fit in with a group of kids. Yes he had the money, but he also had better things to spend it on.

Like literally anything that wasn't an enchanted dust-buster.

"Is your dad on the train, Scorpius?" He didn't have a good reason for asking, Feliciano just didn't have a reason not to ask. "Are you going home with him today?"

"Naw," But his friend was just interested in trying to catch Gamp's chocolate frog when it leaped straight across the compartment and into his lap. He fought with it for a few seconds before snatching it off the wall and forcing it back into her laughing hands. "Staff usually stay back for a couple days after the end of term, he'll either come home by Floo powder or apparate somewhere into the house when no one's looking."

"Somewhere?" Arthur let himself lose the chess game and looked up as Higgs scooted over to get a turn at the board. Scorpius just shrugged at the question.

"Last year he jumped out the pantry and gave Grandma such a scare she almost fainted. Think he thought it was mum."

"Impossible," One of the other girls by the name of Laura Finnick spoke up. "My father says Professor Malfoy's too terrifyingly strict for pranks like that."

"He's strict at school, yeah, I was terrified of him on my birthday this year. But it's not the same when everyone's on break." Now Feliciano was curious, maybe this was why Scorpius was desperate for his classmates to come over to his house? "You would have loved it over Christmas, Vargas. He put a jinx on the back of my grandfather's head so his hair changed colour every time he named one. Mother insisted we all sing a few songs and I thought my Grandma was going to go mad trying not to laugh at him."

Feliciano didn't know what the Malfoy Family's history was, or Draco Malfoy himself, but when he looked across the compartment at the mesmerized look on England's face, he knew there was probably a deeper meaning hidden under Scorpius's account. The boy didn't seem to notice that what he was saying was so strange to the rest of them, but the nation sitting next to him looked like he'd just been handed a delicately formed present, and he shut his mouth and blinked the misty look out of his eyes before anyone except Feliciano could notice.

Scotland's familiar face was waiting for them on the platform again when the Hogwarts express pulled into London. He was having a chat with Scorpius' mother and they found out later in the car that Scotland had kept his word and agreed to lunch and a walking tour of St. Mungos before they'd arrived on the platform to pick up the students.

"Sorry, squirt. Looks like you're spending a chunk of your summer out in Wiltshire."

"Good, since I was going to ask you about that as soon as we got home." No hugs again between the two British brothers, and no surprise appearance by Lovino this time although Feliciano did stand right up on his toes and crane his neck around looking for him just in case. Instead, he saw the back of Rose Weasley's head as she was pulled into a hug by a smiling witch with frizzy brown hair. The other Weasley and Potter children were all in a cluster with adults standing tall and proud around them, and Feliciano dropped back down on his heels to pay attention to the conversation in front of him.

"Gotta get this little one on his way back to Italy, but I should be able to ship Arthur off to you sometime around the beginning of August, Mrs. Malfoy."

"You make him sound like a package, Mister Kirkland." Mrs. Malfoy had the sense of humour Scorpius had talked about his dad having, chuckling with an arm around her son where Scorpius himself was bouncing on his toes bursting with the good news coming at him.

"Aye, but you see it's just that simple." And since they weren't in the same massive rush like they'd been caught in at Christmas, Scotland was relaxed and held his hands up to mark dimensions about half the size of Feliciano's school trunk. "Ye just get a box about this big, poke a few holes in the top and make sure there's enough snacks for the journey. Ain't that right, boy?"

"I think I hate you." England was not impressed.

"Well! Until August then, Mrs. Malfoy."

"Of course, Mister Kirkland. Scorpius?"

"Bring your broom, Kirkland, don't forget! And Vargas- see you next year, alright? September first!"

"Yes! Enjoy your summer, Scorpius!"

"Bye!"

Feliciano stayed on the platform waving until Scotland gave him a jerk on the back of his shirt collar, yanking him along for a little bit until he turned around properly and scampered after the two of them and along through the enchanted exit from the platform. They still couldn't speak plainly until they were right out of the train station and loading their trunks and cases up into the back of a London taxi.

"Now don't you two go telling me I need to come up with an awful story about how you both died between now and August," was the first thing he said straight to both of them once they climbed in the car and Scotland gave the address for England's town house.

"Don't worry, we're going back." England answered for him, and then he stared straight at Feliciano like that was somehow a bad thing. "We are _definitely_ going back."

"Don't look at me like that; I'm not the one who agreed to a sleep-over." So Feliciano teased him, it was the only appropriate thing to do.

"Oh no, we're not even going to _pretend_ that this isn't your fault." England huffed back at him, and he kept his bad mood up all the way to the house.

In fact, he kept the bad mood up right until Feliciano, in adult attire and his cross in a charmed box in England's basement, waved good-bye to his bitter host at the airport the next day.

"Enjoy your summer!" Feliciano called back from the first row of security doors.

"Go fuck yourself!" England answered, middle-finger raised high before he turned away and stormed out of the terminal.

Humph. Big baby.

* * *

**As of this afternoon Part 22 has been posted on Tumblr, which is about the end of February for Year 2. When I finish off the next few chapters, I'll begin posting the Year 2 content here on FFN!**

**Lemme know what you thought of their first year! Entertaining? Too outrageous? Would YOU ever willingly shrink yourself down to an eleven-year-old body? Leave it below!**


	16. Summer Sports

**And I'm back! That hiatus only lasted about a week, right? Not too bad, especially considering the jump in chapter length you guys are about to get.**

** Year 2 extends from chapters 16 to 28, so here's to another happy rush of chapters!**

* * *

_**Snakeskins**_

Summer Sports

The rest of that June and all of July were devoted to work. Specifically: to catching up and getting used to having Scotland in places where Scotland usually wasn't supposed to be. They had a scuffle just walking around the United Nations building in the Netherlands when they realized there was only one red seat on the security council for the United Kingdom.

If at any point Arthur had expected Scotland to kindly step the hell down and take one of the spare blue seats that was brought out for him at the table, he was corrected by his brother's Scottish fist slamming into his face in the middle of Arthur trying to strangle him with his tie.

The younger, stronger, richer, more accomplished and _better looking_ brother had to sit in the blue chair, the ugly older brother claimed the Veto position alongside America, Russia, China and France.

France was an ugly nation.

"I took the liberty of ordering a special children's lunch for you this afternoon."

"Go eat dirt."

And Francis Bonnefoy was a positively toxic human being.

"Should you really be letting a minor drink like that, Scotland?"

"Alright, France, simmer down." Not that Arthur's brother really helped things along. "It's only _coffee_ after all."

And after France, it was America.

"So you're totally coming out to California next month to-"

"America I _told you_." America, who was a great big child wrapped up in an even bigger Jock's body. When they met up a few weeks later in Beijing for an energy summit Arthur was more interested in standing as close to the air-conditioner as possible than with trying to explain to the bouncing hyperpower that he was going to be _busy_ in August. "I have important Ministry business next month. I'll be out of contact for at least a week, possibly as long as two, and I've barely been in touch with Italy all summer, so-"

"Oh, that's cause I sent some of my guys down there to help Italy out with some stuff." It was getting harder to talk to the other nations about the Vargas brothers, because while England still thought of Feliciano as "Italy" due to the extended contact, everyone else had begun switching to calling him "Veneziano" while his older brother became just "Italy". It all depended on who you spent the most time with.

"What do you mean _'sent some guys down'_?"

"Italy promoted a new General back in May and said him and his brother were gonna be under his command for most of summer for training." Well _that_ certainly explained why Feliciano hadn't been returning any Arthur's messages about work _or_ Hogwarts. "So we got to talking and I offered to share my expertise on the matter. About two hundred of my marines are in Rome right now for joint training until the end of summer. It's a pretty sweet program too, I mean, I can send you the-"

"America, did you just tell me that you convinced South Italy to enlist North Italy in an eight-week joint training program despite how much backlog the two of us have to get through just with every-day government housekeeping?"

America must have heard something very different from what Arthur meant, but they were on break with England sipping a specialty tea China was trying to push internationally so he let the larger nation think very hard on the question before looking sorry.

"I guess I didn't think of it that way, I mean I was gonna go join them after this conference but-"

"Oh don't look so pathetic. I'm just disappointed knowing _you_ thought up something that clever before Scotland or I."

It also made Arthur's plans to spend a portion of August far more agreeable than he'd been prepared for. Listening to Italy hysterically scream over the phone "_PLEASE LET ME GO WITH YOU TAKE ME WITH YOU I CAN'T DO THIS ANYMORE I NEED TO GO HOME THERE'S NO PASTA HERE AMERICA'S SOLDIERS ARE __**MONSTERS **__THIS IS THE WORST SUMMER VACATION __**EVER**_." just made Arthur Kirkland smirk under his breath and go fix up his charm for the new year, a small trunk packed up with clothes he'd either had Scotland shrink down for him, or he'd simply given in and purchased himself as a small boy with a wad of pound bills in his pocket.

A little bit taller than he'd been a month previous on the train from Hogwarts, Arthur was no less dizzy when he put the spell back on, but he was also embarrassed when he came upstairs to find an angry owl scowling from his open window, a letter from the ministry of magic in its beak before it practically spat the envelope at him and took away.

"_YOU GIT._"

It was a letter from the Ministry of Magic, informing Arthur Kirkland "Sr." that Arthur Kirkland "Jr." had performed an illegal act of magic, and if he repeated the infraction while out of school he could face punishments as severe as a suspension or expulsion from Hogwarts School, or even having his wand snapped. Scotland really had signed him up for the damned law!

So Arthur didn't use any magic at all when he changed all the names in his brother's cellphone contact book to lewd things, and he was sure to dump a good deal of salt in the sugar bowl once they'd both finished with their morning coffee and tea on the day he was expected at Malfoy Manor.

"Are you seriously taking that?"

"He said bring a broom."

Arthur considered bringing the dry mop from his closet, but he did in fact go down into his basement and dig out a legitimate racing broom.

"It's gotta be at least thirty years old, Arthur."

"He _said_ bring a broom."

"Have it your way."

There were numerous ways to get to Wiltshire, and most of them involved cars or trains, but the Malfoys weren't a half-blood family or muggleborn by any stretch. As nice as Mrs. Astoria Malfoy was on the King's Cross platform and as fair as her husband Draco Malfoy was at the school, there were certain expectations that the Kirklands knew to meet.

"We can apparate or we can Floo powder."

"If I use a speck more magic that owl will swoop in and take my wand away."

"Floo it is."

Scotland went with a splendid dark blue robe over a fine black suit, he'd even dug his white willow wand out of whatever sock-drawer in Edinburgh he'd left it in for the trip. If Arthur hadn't already known that the Greengrass family had Scottish roots down one side, Arthur might have been suspicious of his brother's intentions what with coming along with him and making contact with the Malfoys.

Arthur himself took advantage of his apparent age and went in long khaki shorts and simple red trainers, a green striped shirt making him look positively infantile as he followed Scotland through the green smoke and light of the floo powder gateway in his basement.

"Malfoy Manor!"

And one hair-raising ride through the floo network later, he was stepping out of a very clean and well-tended stone hearth, and his senses immediately reacted to his new surroundings.

Because it was so _clean._

It actually made him stop and give a little jump, surprise freezing him up for a few moments. Arthur looked up to the tall windows surrounding the sitting room where he'd just arrived, the panes of bright summer sunlight brushing gently against green curtains and silver tassels. The colours blended neatly with the surgical purity of freshly plastered white walls and gilded portraits of some sneering, others preening, and even one dozing Malfoy ancestor.

The house was _clean_, and not in the nit-picky sense of swept floors and scrubbed windows, but mystically, _spiritually_, it was completely pure.

The last time Arthur Kirkland had set foot in this place, it had been so rank with black magic and death that, really, he'd quite lost his appetite simply looking at the place from afar. Whatever the family had done, it had taken an astounding amount of magic to purify what had once been an absolutely vile complex.

"Young Mister Kirkland's had quite a bit to say about you." And that magic had no doubt come from the Witch and Wizard who were there and happily greeting Scotland and Arthur where his brother had stepped out of the hearth already. Professor Malfoy was in the middle of a pleasant greeting, hand still in Scotland's for a firm shake as Arthur gathered his senses. Malfoy's normal white and green robes had been retired for what seemed like a far more relaxed outfit of rich amber buckled across the front with black clasps.

"Aye, nothing kind I imagine from a boy like him."

"Not nearly as bad as you'd think." The Professor urged.

"Eh?" Astoria Malfoy must have already performed the introduction, because Scorpius' mother was draped in a luscious red robe with a black edge that matched her husband's just enough to compliment him. Obviously appearances were critical, because her make-up was almost impossible to see save the dark red kiss on her lips, and her eyes were sparkling gently as she waved a hand in Arthur's direction to get his attention. He was stopped by Scotland turning around and looking at him.

"What's this? Gone soft have you? Think I can't handle the truth, tyke?"

"Only in public you great ginger oaf," he bit back, stepping around Scotland's leg and wearing through a scolding look from Scorpius' mother, her rose red lips puckered as she shook her head just enough to tell him no, she didn't like him saying mean things like that.

"There, that's more like it." But Scotland was pleased and obviously a bit too comfortable with these people, because he immediately raised his voice in a stern and half-threatening tone of voice: "So see here, Malfoy, I won't have you coddling the boy, not one bit." And the jibe was received surprisingly well, because it was the first time in years that Arthur ever heard Draco Malfoy laugh.

"You have my word. Maybe we'll string the boys up by their thumbs after dinner and let them hang like that for a few hours."

"An ideal suggestion, sir. Mrs. Malfoy your husband has an excellent sense of discipline."

"Oh, that's enough you two. You'll scare the poor boy." Arthur nearly stuck his tongue out at Scotland when it was his turn for a scolding. Professor Malfoy swept a hand over the couch next to him and invited Scotland to sit and take tea, which he accepted, and Mrs. Malfoy got Arthur's attention again with a soft touch at his wrist.

"Scorpius should just be outside with his grandfather, but I think the floo powder-"

There was a bang somewhere in the house that sounded like a door practically flying off its hinges, a grown man's laugh and then the low roar of something magical moving very quickly through the house.

Astoria Malfoy's face went very pale and then she was standing with her wand out, pointed at the large open doorway connecting this chamber to the rest of the house.

"_Scorpius Lucius Malfoy."_ She didn't shout, oh no, a woman like Astoria Malfoy simply _did not_ raise her voice. What she did do was give a delicate flick of her wand which caused a shimmer to pass over the doorframe, and as soon as the swooping blur of a child on a broomstick came into view Scorpius was snatched off the flying vessel by what looked like the lacquered body of a massive soap bubble. "_What_ have I told you about flying in the house?"

"But Mum-!" Arthur had never seen Scorpius look so filthy, not even after an extended lesson of Herbology with Longbottom. "The green smoke, we saw it burst out the chimney top!"

Scorpius' broom was not forgotten in all of this, but with an impressive show of power Astoria Malfoy merely turned her wrist and summoned the broom to screech (silently) to a halt in mid-air and drift down into her waiting grasp. Arthur recognized the summoning charm after a few moments so it wasn't really wandless magic, but it was impressive none the less.

Scorpius' bubble let him down gently where he'd been suspended some four feet in the air for the duration of his scolding, but while the chatter behind Arthur had fallen flat to watch the exchange, Scotland's voice picked up again once the matter seemed settled, a bit more laughter easing whatever trouble Scorpius might otherwise have found him in.

"Mister Kirkland."

"Arthur, ma'am, if that's quite alright." He thought she was speaking to Scotland when he found Mrs. Malfoy looking at him instead, she was smiling, a little exasperated with the boy who came trampling mud and grass in over the lavish red rugs covering the stone floors, but still refined and in complete control of herself.

"Of course it is. Arthur, as Scorpius knows: I forbid flying in my house. While you're here I also don't want to see any ministry owls for _either_ of you from silly wand waving. Understood?"

Perfectly. And the smile they both received for understanding the simple rules earned them both a warm look and Scorpius a kiss on the forehead- followed by a flick of dirt off his shoulder and onto the rug where it promptly vanished.

"Run along and play then." With a final wave of her wand Arthur heard the dry huff of his trunk scraping the carpet before it lifted itself into the air and began to drift across the room, presumably to wherever he would be sleeping. Scorpius interrupted this at once.

"Mum- _Mum!_" The trunk didn't stop but Astoria did look at him, so Scorpius didn't hesitate. "His broom- you did bring your broom, right?"

"Eh... _Yes._" He heard Scotland give a low laugh and mutter something over his head.

"Wait until you get a look at this, Malfoy, you'll appreciate it I'm sure."

"Stuff it!" Arthur yelled back, looking over at his trunk where it had paused. Astoria Malfoy's wand gave an extremely fast flicker like she was ringing a tiny bell at the end of it, the trunk unlocked, and out popped Arthur's broomstick before the rest of his belongings were pulled right back inside and the case resumed its flight upstairs.

The broom hovered on its own, a soft accio spell bringing it closer so Arthur could get a hand on it. Scorpius, not always the most patient, quickly grabbed the staff end and got a look at the gold lettering on the head of the broom.

"A Nimbus Two-Thousand and _One!?_" He exclaimed, sounding horrified. "My _dad's_ got one of those, positively ancient model. Nimbus went out of business years ago didn't they, dad?"

"_Scorpius._" Mrs. Malfoy scolded.

Professor Malfoy had his face in one hand and looked like he was desperately trying not to laugh.

"But _isn't_ it old?" Scorpius insisted,

"Yes it's old but it flies just fine, thank you!" Arthur bit back, surprised with how hot he felt under the collar as he snatched his broom back and clutched the polished body tight in both hands. "And what's that then, a Cleansweep Fourty-Nine?"

"Why don't you boys take this discussion and those brooms outside then?" Professor Malfoy suggested; his laughter under control where his smile looked a bit friendlier now than is usually did at school. "Scorpius' grandfather has built quite the course through the trees along the back end of the property, and it's miles from any muggle roads so there's no chance of anyone seeing them."

"And Lucius Malfoy, I understand, is out of Ministry politics?"

"Completely. Astoria, darling, come sit down. The boys can find their own way, I'm sure."

"C'mon, Kirkland! We- well, I'll try and go easy on you if you're riding that old thing."

"And I'm going to make you eat those words." Arthur answered, fighting inside with the sting of jealousy that bit when he found himself being hurried through the clean white halls of Malfoy Manor and away from a conversation he otherwise really should have been present for and paying attention to. The adults' voices faded swiftly behind them as Scorpius moved at a quick pace to get them out of the house without actually running, both of them carrying their broomsticks out through a pair of wide open French doors and into the bright summer sunshine.

Arthur wanted to take comfort in the heat and the August afternoon, but that was quashed immediately when he looked down across the rolling green grass spreading down and away from the manor and saw an old man in long black wizard's robes trudging up the freshly raked gravel path towards them. He had a black cane in one hand and his long silvery hair was blustering about in a bit of wind coming off the moor spread far around the estate, and Scorpius either sensed Arthur's apprehension or had just experienced this set-up too many times to be caught unawares again.

"That's my grandfather." He said quickly, if a bit nervously so that Arthur had to turn around and look at his nervous little face. "Now, just don't say anything and it should all be fine. He's really not _that_ bad, love him to death I do, he just-"

"Scorpius!"

The boy panicked, and his words came out like a frightened squeak:

"He makes it hard to have _friends._"

"And who's this then?" In his prime Lucius Malfoy had been a wizard Arthur had known by sight and vice-versa. He was quite used to always being the same age when meeting a human of any sort after spending years apart, so it was something uncanny and down-right _wrong_ to find himself looking _up_ at a wizard who had in fact slowly begun to hunch over and perhaps shrink a little as age caught up with his nasty soul. The foulness Arthur had once associated with Malfoy Manor still clung to the former Patriarch, the stench was greatly reduced, of course, but there was still a filth that remained: the subtle stink of prejudice that had fallen out of favour and was simply intolerable to bear in polite company anymore. "Another lowborn like that Higgs you mentioned?"

"Higgs won't be coming until tomorrow, grandpa." Scorpius had a look on his face like he could see two very breakable objects screaming towards the floor, and he had no idea which one to dive for and catch as his eyes flashed between Arthur and his grandfather. "This is Arthur, another Slytherin boy from Hogwarts. One of the smartest in our year, no doubt, beat that Weasley girl by a mile."

"Which Weasley?"

"A-All of them, I think?" He'd just told Arthur not to talk and now he was looking at him to dig him out of the hard question. Arthur'd lost his marks under oil prices and various dates for the Royal Tour he'd quickly participated in across New Zealand and Australia a week earlier. He had to think very hard and very fast to come up with an answer.

"If you're talking about Rose Weasley, yes; five points up across the board, _except_ transfiguration, but I still blame Vargas for that." The idiot had bumped his arm in the middle of their final examination. Imagine, he, Arthur Kirkland, failing to turn a rabbit into a fine felt hat!

There was a pause where Lucius Malfoy was staring his grandson down hard as if about to demand to know why Arthur had also beaten _Scorpius_ at exam time, but then a much more pertinent question struck the former death eater.

"Arthur _what?_" He asked, and while Scorpius squirmed Arthur simply answered.

"Kirkland, sir."

"_Kirkland?_"

"I know it's not the _biggest_ of the pureblood lines, grandpa but really-"

"_No._" Lucius Malfoy cut his grandson off with a word and swung his black cane up like a bar between the two children. Arthur was hardly impressed by the intimidation tactic that even had Scorpius huffing under his breath, not quaking with real fear. The boy was more worried about being embarrassed; this sort of behaviour from Lucius must have been commonplace as far as guests went. "I _know_ that name."

"And I know yours sir, for much the same reason you're thinking of." Because Arthur Kirkland from the Ministry of Magic had taken in several death eaters during the war. He'd seen men like Lucius- in fact, he'd seen Lucius _himself_, from the other side of the cell door in Azkaban. "Might we use your flying course now? Scorpius' been going on about it like mad all year."

"_Kirklands_ have a habit of crashing into people's lives and creating a great stir before up and vanishing again like ghosts."

"Are you saying I'm actually dead, Mister Malfoy, sir?" Arthur said as innocently as he could which meant it came out positively rude and there was nothing he could do to bother taking it back.

"I'm saying your _father_, if that's who you're named after, is the one who should be dead: _twice over_."

"_Grandpa!" _The boy next to him sounded positively scandalized, and immediately forced his way between Arthur and the aged, addled wizard with both arms out and his broom forgotten to tip over onto the ground. "Grandpa you can't _say_ things like that! We're in the same house and Arthur's one of my-"

"_LUCIUS."_

All three of them turned and looked up at the shrill voice that came from the door to the house behind them. Malfoy Manor was at least three stories tall with gargoyles mounted over the gutters at the edge of the roof, and with the added vantage of being on a hill it was an even more impressive frame for the witch standing in that doorway, tiny though she was, and commanding the entire space with her simple presence.

"Narcissa."

"Leave the boys to their games, Lucius; Draco is asking for you."

"Tell him to wait-"

"I'm telling you to _come._"

Men of the Malfoy household, as a rule, must have been powerless in the face of strong, confident women, because Lucius Malfoy didn't try to argue with the white-haired witch garbed in strong indigo and trailing black frills. Her presence was very different from Astoria Malfoy's, and Arthur couldn't remember Narcissa Malfoy being quite so commanding during the war. Maybe betraying the Dark Lord to his face, something she'd grown famous for after the war, had installed a stainless-steel backbone in Scorpius' grandmother.

Lucius Malfoy didn't even bother to pretend the exchange had been polite or that he was sorry. He did break eye-contact with Arthur to look at Scorpius, and there was a brief softness that almost eased Arthur's heart before it, and the former death eater, were both gone.

There was a rattle of the French doors sliding closed, and then Scorpius turned around at once.

"I'm _sorry!_"

"It's al-"

"No, I'm so sorry!" Scorpius hadn't inherited the sliminess that came from a lot of biggoted old pure-blood families. Arthur was curious about how much of that was thanks to his father's experiences in the war, or his mother's influence as a member of one of the less radical families. "I tell him not to be like that but he does it anyways. I have two cousins on mum's side that I have to go visit with her _in secret_ because he's just awful about their dad being a half-blood. I don't know why he pulled all that about your family either, dad told him your surname _weeks_ ago, I just-"

"Scorpius!" Arthur interrupted, already a little tired of the unnecessary apology. "It's fine, you're forgetting who got in a fight with Rose Weasley over a stupid owl, remember?" The child didn't look completely convinced, but he did seem a little more at ease listening to Arthur interrupt him. "If you want to make it up to me then you're going to hand those over: I haven't got a pair."

"These?" Scorpius was baffled until he put a hand up on his hair where Arthur was pointing, and found the set of flying goggles strapped over his head where he'd pulled them up when he shot into the house to greet him.

"You want to fly, don't you? Don't tell me I brought my broom all this way for nothing."

A wordless grin and a set of goggles was all Arthur got in return for his comment. That, and his young friend quickly fetching his broom off the ground where it had fallen and swinging a leg over it before kicking into the air and hovering a few inches off the gravel path.

"Race you there," he challenged while Arthur mounted up after him, a lot less steady on his nimbus as the broom woke up after over two decades of deep sleep.

"Now hang on-"

"And I do mean _race!"_

"_Get back here you idiot! I don't even know which way we're going!_"

And that was the start of Arthur's _actual_ summer vacation.

* * *

**Bare narrative, but it'll get heavier as it goes on. **

**Comment? Question? Key-smash? **

**Put it below!**


	17. Second Year

**Brave, Je Suis une Homme, Snakeskins playlist.**

**I didn't forget to update, I'm just having massive internet problems at home! I'm sorry!**

* * *

_**Snakeskins**_

Second Year

Going back to England at the end of the summer wasn't as terrible as Feliciano'd imagined it would be at the beginning of the season.

"You're a jerk."

"I was right there _with _you the entire damned time!"

"Still a jerk."

But it was still hard.

Training with his military hadn't been all bad, in fact it had helped him recharge better than he would have just hanging around Rome or touring quickly through his cities and countryside. England didn't suffer much homesickness by staying at Hogwarts: he was surrounded by his people, young as they were, and that could keep any nation content. Magical children _were_ a little bit off sometimes, but they were still children, and they were still beautiful to be around even if you couldn't connect with them on a national level.

Being stranded on a military base with four hundred Italian soldiers and two hundred American yahoos for eight weeks had a similar kind of niceness. Feliciano would have _greatly_ preferred being sent to, say, an eight-week _soccer camp_ or an _Olympic training meet_ or _a cultural works project fratello did you not even __**read**__ those letters?_ But it wasn't all bad. His platoon was ingrained on his memory and his spirit even deeper than the students he'd run around with for an entire academic year, he knew them better and he, arguably, cared for them more.

Patriotic love, in the end, was what got him back on the train to Hogwarts for a second year under the effects of the de-aging charm. He'd forgotten how uncomfortable the cold silver cross was against his skin after he was welcomed into England's London house and then scolded for still wearing his uniform.

"You can't have a muggle officer's uniform in your trunk when you get to school!"

"Ve~ What did you expect me to wear on the plane? I was only released this morning!"

The uniform went back to Rome in a sealed package, and Feliciano went with England for another last-minute shopping spree down Diagon Alley for his second year books after they made the same mistake as last year: Feliciano had kept his letter of acceptance instead of parcelling it off to Scotland to get the errand running done.

So as a punishment, Feliciano had to wear the charm, but Arthur Kirkland (Sr.) did not.

"You're an even bigger jerk than my-"

"The train leaves tomorrow, keep up now: I won't have you falling behind!"

His twelve-year old arms were slightly stronger than the younger set he'd worn before, but it was a shallow difference and England was half as considerate as his big brother when he made Feliciano huff and puff and waddle behind him with his arms full of second-year books, a new quill set and a replacement bottle of green ink. All paid for by him of course, England hadn't even brought a tote bag of some kind for him to use, magical or otherwise.

They avoided meeting anyone they knew by name in the Alley, with the possible exception of Albus and James Potter when they were on their way back to the Leaky Cauldron for dinner and because Feliciano was too exhausted to keep walking. A particularly loud bang from the Weasley's Wizard Wheezes shop caused a stumble in the flow of traffic through the wizarding quarter, and England hurried him along right past a cluster of laughing wizards and witches who stumbled out the smoking doorway with children and teens yelling loudly blaming each other for the chaos.

"Hurry up unless you want to deal with the entire Potter-Weasley clan." England scolded, stepping between Feliciano and the noise of the joke-shop when he thought he saw a familiar boy with black hair and a bigger, happier grin on his laughing face than Feliciano was used to seeing at Hogwarts. He wasn't against the idea of seeing Rose Weasley and Albus Potter again before getting on the train, but it was easy to see why it would be better not to interact with them while he was burdened with so many school supplies and following someone who was supposed to be his classmate's (other, adoptive) older brother.

It was all too confusing so they left the Alley quietly and with fast steps, hailing a muggle cab to carry them back home where Feliciano's suitcase was forced to take the new books along with the burden of clothes. Neither of them could use magic to make the packing any easier, and the volume of necessary items was what made it so much different from packing for a business trip. Feliciano's electronics were packed up in a drawer in England's guest bedroom, along with his Italian passport and security badge from work, and then his wallet with its muggle money and cards was stowed away as well. There was no way to put a charm on it without getting in trouble with the British Ministry, but Feliciano also knew what a bad sign of faith it would be to enchant the drawer when the only person who _might_ come through the house before Christmas was Scotland.

The next day Scotland took them to King's Cross Station and stepped onto the enchanted platform with them, lingering for a few minutes just for appearance's sake before vanishing back out into Muggle London. Just like the year before, Feliciano and England boarded the train and tried not to get stepped on by upperclassmen as they searched quickly for a compartment to hide in.

"Over here!"

A familiar voice and a fluttering hand wave from one compartment door got them both to hurry up and come face to face with Eliza Gamp, already bundled up in her Slytherin robes and school uniform, grinning wide and surprisingly happy to usher them into the compartment.

"Kirkland!"

"You're finally here, Vargas!"

Scorpius Malfoy was sitting in the compartment and jumped up so he could grab England by the wrist and swing him down into a spot on the seat next to him, Feliciano shutting the compartment door quickly before he was jerked around by Charles Higgs getting a handful of his shirt and shoving him a little bit.

"You ignored all my letters: you'd better have a good reason." Higgs could be a bully if he wanted to, he was still round-faced and a little heavy, but for a child he was strong enough to almost send Feliciano off his seat with that push. Getting a good look at him though, the boy was more upset than angry, and most of that was bundled up well.

"I thought I saw you in Diagon Alley yesterday," Gamp's black hair was braided around over her shoulder in a long rope, her white face innocent with a tiny little nose and wide, dark eyes that had always been full of tears last year. She made Feliciano and Higgs move over so she could sit back down again, and her toes scraped the floor where a few months ago they'd been hanging inches above the carpet. "But who was that man you were with, Vargas?"

"What were you doing all summer?" And then even Scorpius felt the need to chime in without letting him take a breath! "You were impossible to get a hold of."

"Ve! My brother packed me off to a muggle program all summer." He'd thought about lying to cover up where he'd been, there hadn't been any real time between getting back to Rome and grabbing his bag for the airport to address the stack of letters that had piled up through the mail slot with children's handwriting. Lovino hadn't said anything about them either, but they were a thick bundle at the bottom of his trunk right now.

"_Muggles!?_"

If he'd said he'd spent all summer mucking around with rats and enchanted tea pots his classmates might have reacted better, but across from him England was just laughing at their astounded, borderline horrified expressions.

"Our families work in Muggle Relations, it's really not that uncommon." Thankfully, England was able to lend him a little bit of support trying to explain things. "We do a bunch of travelling around to important muggle places, but even I could have told you what an awful deal Vargas got this year."

"What?"

"What happened?" The others were hanging on England's every word, and Feliciano just felt a sudden sleepiness wash over him that he eased by closing his eyes and rubbing his face with both hands, whining over England's suspenseful account with his own version:

"It wasn't all that bad."

"Muggle military drills?" England challenged, and when Feliciano looked again he saw more than the usual glint in the other nation's eyes. He was making fun of Feliciano's decades- no, _centuries_ long hatred for combat training.

"Alfred and my brother were both there, it was okay."

"Alfred's also a demon when it comes to those sorts of things though." This was true, but Feliciano wasn't willing to argue about it.

Explaining and describing everything to the other students took a lot of tender navigation, Feliciano's mind taking a more complicated path than he probably needed to rationalize how a twelve year old boy had been kept busy or had his presence justified on a military compound for two months. He regretted not just saying he'd been penned up with relatives when he realized his convoluted story was going to have to hold for however long it took the children around him to completely forget his wacky summer adventure.

Finally, after patiently waiting for Feliciano to get all of that out of the way, Scorpius got to say whatever it was that had him practically vibrating in his seat the entire time.

"_Quidditch...!"_ Nevermind the _'practically'_, Scorpius was actually bouncing on his seat and coming apart with excitement. It was adorable, and the way England cupped his own chin in one hand and watched with a tolerant smile said he'd been like this over summer too. "We get to try out this year! Slytherin team lost our seeker and two chasers who were all in seventh year before summer, so who else is going to try out?"

"My brother's the keeper," Higgs spoke up, fidgeting around a little and peering at the compartment door waiting for the witch with the sweets cart to amble by. Feliciano was getting hungry too. "Tom made it to captain this year, and he wants to have try-outs as soon as possible."

"Do you think we'll get a good team this year?" England asked, both nations trying to push more enthusiasm than they really felt onto the conversation. It was hard to get really excited about a sport such a small portion of your population even knew _existed_. "It was a little hard to watch last year, who was it who got sent into the stands in the Ravenclaw Match?"

"Lucy Harper, she's still on the team."

The rest of the day's talk was dominated by Quidditch. Feliciano's interest in the topic waned until he was left doing a bit of his remaining summer homework that had been left behind while he was off training, and eventually England coaxed Scorpius' chess board out from under his arm and set up a game between them. It was dangerous to pit two nations against each other in a game of kings and war, but it was boring to cross into the Scottish Highlands with nothing but potions homework to do.

"What about you two?" Neither of them looked up when Gamp addressed them, Feliciano knew better than to let his eyes off the board in case England tried to cheat him. They'd been advancing and retreating across the board with minimal action for the last fifteen minutes when Eliza interrupted them, tugging on her braid when she was ignored and giving Feliciano a light kick in the leg.

"I'm no good at it." England stated, fingertips hovering over his bishop where moving it three spaces across the board would set both sides of the game on fire. The strategy was all about knowing when to start taking pieces, and when to hold back on declaring all-out war. "Scorpius put me on his Flashbolt this summer and I went screaming off into the next county."

"You're quite alright on your Nimbus." Scorpius was trying to be encouraging, but Feliciano watched the way England's fingers clenched briefly before he told his rook to retreat away from Feliciano's knight. "But I guess that's fair enough to say. What about you, Vargas?"

"Knight to E5." He said, holding a hand up to show he wasn't ignoring Scorpius, he just needed a second while England went blue in the face across from him.

"_That's_ how you want to go down?" He hissed, watching his rook sail right across the compartment from the harsh kick from Feliciano's knight. "Bishop to E5!"

"Queen to A6."

"Queen to- _shit._" Feliciano looked up and then gave _twelve year old_ Arthur Kirkland a flick on the forehead for swearing. The other nation didn't even look up where he was examining the board and grinding his teeth in frustration. "How did you bloody well do that?"

His knight took England's queen on the next turn, avenging the bishop that wound up with a permanent chip on the knob of his hat. Ten intense minutes of near silence later, Scorpius gave a shallow whisper at England's ear that everybody heard.

"He's got you."

"He does _not_."

"Oh yes he does."

This was the danger of two nations playing a game about conquering and killing, and that was why when Feliciano felt his pride swelling up a little bit too high and knew the delicious taste of the words "_checkmate"_ dancing over his lips, he made the only sensible move possible. Instead of letting this turn into a four hour long stand-off that would carry them all the way to Hogsmeade, Feliciano listened for the sound of the snack cart rolling by. As soon as the old witch's shadow appeared, he jumped up and let the fast movement tip the board over and scatter the pieces to the floor.

"Woah!"

"Ah! Sorry, Scorpius. I didn't hurt any of them, did I?"

"N-No? I think they're fine but the game-"

"I'm just really hungry." Interrupting Scorpius's concern helped dispel the cloud of anger rolling through Arthur's eyes. There was an indignity about losing a game like that. Yes, it was only a game, but it hit a little too close to home sometimes and a mouthful of chocolate and pumpkin cream was one of the better ways to deal with those emotions. England needed to calm down and bring Arthur back to the forefront, so Italy and Feliciano were willing to sacrifice a few coins and the gloating triumph of victory to satisfy him.

That was why nations didn't play war games.

"Feeling better?" He asked, their seats switching around so the nations were next to each other while the three children cleaned up candy wrappers and tried to stop the two queens from the chess set from cracking each other with their resin swords after being left on the floor too long. England shrugged at him and licked a bit of icing off his thumb.

"Sorry about that." Was the answer, and then Scorpius remembered the topic they'd mentioned half an hour ago.

"_Vargas._ Quidditch? Are you going to try out this year or not?"

"I don't really like playing Quidditch." That feeling of being up in the air was nice, but no engine, no roar, not enough of anything for his body to hold onto and meld with while tearing along at high speeds... "I don't have a broom either, so there's no point."

This blew his classmates' minds almost as badly as his summer holiday announcement, and the rest of the train ride and then the long walk to the carriages up the mountain was dominated by the discussion.

He didn't have a broom? How could he not have a broom? Not _one_ broom? In the entire Vargas home there was not one broomstick to be had?

"We have one for sweeping floors, but that's about it." They swept the floors _by hand?_

"That's it." Feliciano couldn't do this. Children were cute and their interest was adorable, but it had been a four hour train ride and they still had to get through the banquet with their endurance that wasn't much better now than it had been last year. Feliciano had grown used to doing long runs and parkour courses with America yelling at him to keep running and not slack off all summer in the heat, it was offensive to be this tired after sitting on a train all day playing chess.

So he did what any respectable nation of three millenia would do, and yanked the edge of England's black robe up so he could hide under it for the remaining carriage ride.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Sleeping, stop moving."

Gamp was in stitches giggling across the carriage, Scorpius he couldn't see but he was laughing too as England started hitting him to make Feliciano fall out of the robe. Not to be out-done, he promptly wrapped both arms around the other nation's skinny torso and squeezed hard with his head resting between England's back and the padded cushion of the seat.

"You idiot! Let go!"

"No."

"Stop that!"

"No~!"

And on and on, until they reached the school and England got fed up before Feliciano was ready to stop hugging him and leave the warmth under his robe to sit up on his own. He really should have just taken the warnings, because he wasn't ready for the inanimate black cloth to suddenly constrict around him, his world to flip over, and England's weight to suddenly be on top of him with one of Feliciano's legs-

"_Ow ow! Okay! Stop! I surrender!"_

"Okay, that's enough you two! We're going to get in trouble!"

Gamp scolded them harshly but Scorpius was the one who undid the hex on England's robe so it let Feliciano go and they could untangle themselves. Feliciano hid next to Eliza for the rest of the ride, letting her help him get his hair back in order where the robe had messed it up so red strands were sticking up all over the place. The last thing Scorpius found relevant to say before the carriage rolled to a stop was back on the same topic that had been following them for hours.

"The best flyer in our year doesn't even _like_ quidditch." And he just shook his head sadly, hands up to hold his face like it was the worst news Feliciano could have given him.

"Scorpius, you're exaggerating so much it hurts."

They arrived at the castle shortly after that, joining the other Slytherin second years while the upperclassmen streamed by and the other houses ignored them in favour of getting to the great hall and the waiting meal.

The great hall was exactly as it had been before, ageless and impressive with a ceiling that reflected the starlit sky outside in its rolling enchantments and the foggy after-image of the buttresses physically holding the roof up. The Slytherins piled up on their table and took seats, Feliciano ducking and crawling right under the table to snag a seat across from England and with a better view of the wide open space where the sorting ceremony would take place.

"How many you think we'll get this year?" There were seven Slytherins in their year, but Feliciano couldn't answer the question before Headmistress McGonagall, proud and ageless, stood up and led the school through a jaunty song that he'd only heard on special occasions the year before. They sang it once all together with her voice and wand tip leading them through the melody, and then with a genuine smile, she signalled for them to do it again.

Everyone else knew what to do, it was up to the second years across all four tables to hurry and catch up.

_"Hogwarts! Hogwarts! Hoggy warty Hogwarts!"_

The first time Feliciano had heard this song he'd sworn his competence with English had collapsed, because it was absolutely ridiculous to sing and it made England look like he wanted to vanish under the table every time it was mentioned. He blamed its creation on Scotland, Feliciano called it a family effort.

"_Bring back what we've forgot!"_

It wasn't very long though, and even if he missed a few words here and there, the Slytherin table as one had forks and knives in hand to drum and beat on the table, feet stomping as all four houses brought their voices higher and higher, yelling out at different tempos and rhythms in a cacophony of sound that was as bad as the lyrics.

"_Just do your best, we'll do the rest!"_

_"And learn until our brains all rot!"_

And then the sorting. Feliciano counted just under forty terrified children following Professor Flitwick down the middle of the hall, and it was exactly the same as last year: the heavy silence and the smiles from the Deputy Headmaster telling the first years not to panic or faint away. Names were announced clearly once the hat made its appearance, and while the first little girl with tight gold ringlets answered her name and climbed onto the stool, Feliciano heard a whisper at his ear.

"Zabini says if we see any trouble we have to be ready to move." It killed his good mood listening to Scorpius give a warning like that. The way the whole house was waiting for something _bad_ to-

_"HUFFLEPUFF!"_

Feliciano's eyes scanned the head table. McGonagall, Longbottom, Slughorn, Desford, Hagrid, a few more teachers he knew and he didn't, and then he found who he was looking for: Professor Malfoy.

Scorpius' father always wore white and usually highlighted it with Slytherin green. He'd traded in the lighter emerald Feliciano had seen so regularly last year for much darker forest green, and there was silver worked along the edges of his robe now. His hands-

"_RAVENCLAW!_"

_ahem._ His hands were clapping politely with each new name called and house announced, but he wasn't looking at his own house. He was scanning the other three, and Feliciano watched him make eye contact with Professor Longbottom from further down the table.

_"HUFFLEPUFF!"_

There was a very long pause before either man broke that stare. English or not Feliciano didn't need to have their loyalty to know the spark of a conflict when he saw one.

At the end of the night Slytherin only claimed six new students: three girls and three boys. There was only silence the six times their name was called with Slytherin shouting and cheering while the other three tables remained quiet. It was almost worse than what had happened last year, instead of the entire school firing itself up for good or bad, Slytherin house stood alone to welcome its new members while children for any of the others at least earned steady applause.

Longbottom and Malfoy glared at each other after every sorting.

England looked pale and horrified staring at the empty spaces still left at the Slytherin table, none of the numbers adding up in his head: why so few?

The feast began with a word from the Headmistress, but the silent distress was still hanging in the air. She smiled and she said kind things that brightened the candles hovering overhead under the illusionary sky.

The food was summoned, the feast began, and with a first year class forty percent smaller than any other house, Slytherin table formed a tight blockade of second and third year students around the fledglings who inched their way up to chatter and get to know their new family.

And the two ministry officials hiding in the middle of it started drafting letters in their heads.

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**Hopefully tomorrow's update won't be so hard to upload...**


	18. Higgs and Gamp

**The Resurrection Stone, Lux Deos, This Is Why I Was Born, Snakeskins playlist.**

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_**Snakeskins**_

Higgs and Gamp

"I imagine you want to do more investigating this year, but do you at least have an idea of where to start?"

Arthur was not interested in allowing the school year to amble by without getting any substantial work done. Really, most of Italy's snooping should have wrapped up the year previous when the wounds had been fresher and the students' memories sharper. He _had_ done quite a bit of poking around Slytherin house, but with the current batch of seventh years too busy with their grades and their dating conundrums to worry about a classmate now two years dead, it was hard to keep the nations' presence relevant.

At least, that had been Headmistress McGonagall's take on the issue over the summer, but Arthur hadn't been able to dissuade Italy, and they _had_ tentatively agreed to go through with the entire seven year haul through the school. Lord knew: there was more than enough tension between the houses to keep two nations on their toes observing and, at times, even taking part in the horrors.

_"Higgs!"_ Taking part in their own way, at least, even if that didn't mean following what their housemates wanted or expected.

"'Bout time you two got-" Charles Higgs looked back over his shoulder and found Arthur Kirkland's wand aimed directly between his eyes. The shock made him come to a complete stop, which was precisely what Arthur wanted as Italy dove around from the other side looking like he might bite their friend's wrist to make him let go of the student he'd got tight around the neck.

"Are you both bonkers!? Don't point that thing at me, Kirkland!" There were wands at their feet and Higgs let the student he'd been fighting with slump down the wall to join them. Arthur put his own wand away to show he didn't need a mystic advantage, but bit back with words before tall stupid thick-headed Higgs could think he lowered his wand because he was scared.

"Did you completely forget what Zabini said last week?" He snapped, "Or Professor Malfoy before that? God, man, we're not even through September!"

"This grimy little half-blood-"

"Is smaller than _Vargas_ and I don't give a damn about his blood: if you're such a pureblood then act like it!"

The way Higgs pulled his heavy shoulders back under his black robe meant he was enraged, chubby neck going tense and mouth rolling over itself trying to stay shut and not say anything. But big as he was Higgs was still a boy, a child, and turning around to have two of his friends calling him out like this would have been terrible for an adult to handle, nevermind a twelve year old boy.

"Just- just _wait_ until you get to the commons." He growled, but Arthur knew better. There was a shake in him, a flash of hurt in grey eyes that broke away first so he could quickly collect his wand and hurry away. There would be apologies later, but only after getting the full story out of him.

"Here, eat this. I was saving it!" Italy was offering a blue and gold chocolate frog packet to the small boy sitting slumped against the wall. He had a yellow and black tie around his neck, a badger stitched over his breast wreathed in silver, and the house colours matched the tight caramel curls up around his head, freckles spotted over his cheeks and stubby little nose.

"Th... Thanks?" His blue eyes were wide, pale brows up and lashes fanned brightly as he stared up between them from his spot on the floor, Italy kneeling next to him and Arthur still standing there now that Higgs was gone. "Ain't you Slytherins too?" His fingers were shaking a little trying to undo the flap on the little box, taking a frog to the face for his trouble before Italy laughed and pulled the sweet treat off the wall before it could escape completely, handing the wiggling thing back to the Hufflepuff boy who grinned and took a big bite.

"Of course we are," Arthur answered, arms crossed watching the interactions unfold. "Never seen Higgs act like that before though."

"Yes so: sorry, but if that was actually your fault then you're going to owe me a frog." Italy said it with a smile that was either completely farcical or down-right threatening, but the Hufflepuff on the floor just nodded sharply to show he understood and, stuffing the rest of the frog in his mouth, stood up and offered a hand.

"Ian Finni-"

"_Oi!_ You snakeskins get away from 'im!"

Ian, if that was his name, still had a mouthful of chocolate when he spun around and was barrelled into by- err, another Ian?

Same tight spun curls, same button nose, same blue eyes- but angry this time, not dazed from losing a fight or smattered with chocolate from the frog's escape attempts. The second Ian jumped in front of the first Ian, wand out and prompting Arthur to get his up again.

Italy just whined.

"But we didn't do anything-!" He looked like he was shaking, the big baby, if he started putting out tears Arthur promised to aim the wand at him instead.

They had to be brothers, and they must have been twins, because while working through the stuffy thickness of sweet chocolate the first Hufflepuff quite simply shuffled around the other and flopped right onto his wand arm, dragging the rod out of the way and putting Arthur in a position to lower his as well.

It turned, almost immediately, into a wrestling match between the bothers.

"_Where'd you get chocolate from!?"_

"They gave it to me- _don't step on my wand!_"

"_Why's it on the floor!"_

Arthur found the rough-housing comedic, but when he looked at Italy there was a painful expression of homesickness on his face watching them bicker.

"Ian and Finn Finnigan." Two voices rattled off at once, the identical boys with identical faces standing shoulder to shoulder now, Ian only distinguishable by the smear of chocolate on the corner of his mouth. "I'm Finn, he's Ian."

"No, I'm Ian and he's Finn." They put an arm around each other and grinned while gesturing to the wrong brother and giving each name. Arthur thought he understood but then realized he didn't, confused by the two faces swimming in front of him.

"Ian?" He said, getting one of them to flash an expectant look at him. Arthur promptly raised his wand and let a sharp puff of smoke out the end, flashing Ian Finnigan's tight curls bright green as the colour took and his twin brother's face broke out into a wide grin followed by hysterical laughter, hands clapping and body doubled over as he howled.

"Ian, Finn." Bouncing his wand as he said each name, Arthur turned and watched Italy's jaw drop and eyes open wide, pleading with him as he forgot about his own wand and raised both hands up, backing away and babbling _'no please don't!_' before Arthur followed through "-Feliciano-" and washed his head with orange.

"_You jerk! Why is it always the hair? Why my hair?"_ Arthur ignored him.

"And Arthur, Arthur Kirkland." He proceeded to introduce himself, not listening to Italy whine and cry about how long it had taken to get rid of the blue last time.

"I think I like how you do things, Kirkland." One of the Finnigan twins laughed, probably Finn since his hair was still the right colour. Ian was pawing wordlessly at his head trying to pull one of his curls straight so he could see exactly how vivid the green was. "But the two of us are in Hufflepuff, we can't show up with green hair!"

"Perhaps you'd prefer a nice fuchsia wash?" Arthur offered instead, jumping away when Italy aimed a pouty little kick at his ankle.

The fun, sadly, was broken up by the distant toll of a bell somewhere through the castle, a signal that the between-class break was over and students only had another five minutes to reach their classes. Arthur was kind enough to remove the hex on Ian until Finn whined about him looking better like that, and the Hufflepuff first years scampered off to join their classmates while Feliciano fixed his own hair with a few rough prods of his wand and huffed off to get them both to Transfiguration.

Given that Transfiguration was one of Italy's favourite classes, Arthur was forgiven for the minor hex long before either of them were able to explain themselves to Higgs. Scorpius was at another table with their scorned house-mate while the Slytherin girls drew lots with the ends of their wands to see who would have to sit with a Ravenclaw boy who looked no less disgusted with his fate.

"You know what I want to do?" Italy commented, relaxed and happy once the lecturing part of Professor Parkinson's Transfiguration lesson was over and the severe witch marched harshly up and down the middle of the classroom watching the Ravenclaws like a hawk. Slytherins knew not to fear her, although Arthur did have a feeling Professor Parkinson was a tad too strict on students from other houses.

"What, eat pasta and take a nap?" They were turning sheets of origami paper into flowers, Arthur half-constructing a few roses before taking more care to create one with dark red petals and a bit of gold edging along the top.

"Ve, I always love taking naps, but what I want..." Italy wasn't even bothering to slow down and create a few sub-par flowers, he was stringing his daisies together in a flower crown, the sleek black length of his wand curling and spiralling through the air to lengthen the stems so they hooked and linked without needing to get his hands messy with the work. Small blue forget-me-nots were added when he tore up one of his sheets of paper, but if he started making laurels Arthur would be obligated to set the display on fire. "Is football."

"_Oh..._" Arthur hadn't thought about that, but as soon as Italy said it he immediately caught the imaginary scent of green grass freshly trimmed before a match, his school shoes feeling loose and clunky where his feet were propped up under their desk, imagining the tightness of proper cleats and the light feeling of a jersey instead of heavy sweaters and robes. "You know, I tried teaching Scorpius a bit of that over summer."

"How do wizards not have football?" Italy sighed his way through the rhetorical question,

"Because they have quidditch." And there was nothing more infuriating for a pureblood wizard with a love of the game than introducing him to a sport where magic had nothing to do with things, he either had to run and kick or collapse and try to breathe. "We had to use a quaffle though, terrible things to kick around."

"How do you headbutt a quaffle?"

"Very painfully."

"You two seem very _chatty_ today." Arthur looked up to see Professor Parkinson standing directly over their desk, hands folded together in front of her and her usual scowl still in place over darkly painted eyes and lips. Her black hair was braided sharply behind her narrow head, bangs hanging straight down to frame her face. The worst part was that she behaved so severely towards Arthur because of his name, but then turned a wonderfully sweet smile on Italy.

Kirkland had not been a small name during the Wizarding War that had dominated the previous generation, and they had only been on _one_ side of the conflict. Vargas on the other hand was nearly unknown in Britain. And he was Slytherin. And he was good at her class.

"Splendid work, Mister Vargas: five points for Slytherin. You have such a delicate, and yet powerful grasp of this art."

"Ah, thank you, Professor! I just love watching you work." He was also a kiss-ass but Arthur refused to let that factor into things. "What flower do you recommend I try next? Daisies are maybe too easy for me." Brown-noser.

"Well, it seems Mister Kirkland is attempting to form a rose, why don't you help him?"

Arthur waited for the Professor to turn her back before giving Italy a look that said if he tried to offer _help_, Arthur would offer him a _black eye._

By the end of the lesson Arthur handed in six healthy red and white roses, Scorpius, Gamp and Higgs all completed the required number of petals and stems to pass the unit, and Italy was a grotesque over-achiever who handed in a rainbow crown of daisies, a chain of forget-me-nots, and three roses- green, red and white, before Arthur cuffed him in the back of the head and told him to stop being such a show-off.

"You only do so well in that class to make the Ravenclaws shut up in History." Scorpius and Higgs vanished right at the end of Transfiguration, and as it was the last class before Astronomy later that night, there was no reason to rush ahead.

"You sound jealous, Kirkland." But Italy didn't deny it either which meant Arthur was probably right. To be perfectly honest though, it was a solid plan.

"What I am is anxious," He mentioned instead, looking off in the direction the two other Slytherin boys had vanished. "I don't think I like having those two run off."

"Scorpius heard something from his father, that's why." Gamp's voice to his left almost made Arthur jump.

Eliza Gamp, when she wasn't crying, was the sort of girl who would remain utterly silent until something abruptly prompted her to speak. Arthur couldn't comment on her appearance beyond the fact that she seemed a healthy twelve year old girl, a little tall and with thick black hair quite like Professor Parkinson, but she always seemed like she was trying just a little bit too hard to appear unfazed and disinterested. Her chin was almost constantly up in the air, which made her crying fits even more remarkable.

There was a vine of tiny, delicate blue forget-me-nots in her hand and Arthur turned an accusing eye on Italy, who balked.

"I just- I copied him." Gamp almost seemed ashamed for interrupting the stare-off, but Arthur was happier hearing that than being led to understand that Italy was flirting with _infants_.

If he dared go around breaking British girls' hearts, Arthur would string him up by his intestines.

"Did you want to practice with us, Eliza?" Italy made the offer and Arthur didn't mind it. She didn't seem like the type to spend most of her time with the other girls, they either thought she cried too much or whatever their interests were just didn't match up. Gamp was usually either hovering on the edge of their discussions with Scorpius, or up in the owlery with her snowy white pet.

The way she smiled but then tried very hard not to smile was a concise yes, her arms tightening around her books so she nearly crushed her flowers, walking abreast with the two of them until Arthur found that awkward and shuffled over so she took the middle spot.

"Scorpius did seem distracted, was it about quidditch?" It was literally the only thing on that boy's mind anymore, he was waiting for the try-out date with baited breath and Feliciano and Arthur didn't make a bee-line for the Slytherin dorm because they knew he was liable to pop up at any moment and drag them to the pitch to help him practice on his and Arthur's brooms.

"No," Gamp answered, shaking her head and looking uncomfortable walking between them, but the nations didn't relent because they both wanted to hear her soft voice. "He came in looking frightened again, and since Higgs was in such a bad mood they immediately started talking. What did you two do to Higgs anyways? He was so, so upset when he showed up."

"Ah, we need to apologize to him."

"No we don't." Arthur denied. "We stopped him from beating up a first year Hufflepuff. I don't really care what Finnigan said, unless it was particularly nasty, but you just don't go assaulting younger students." Arthur knew that from first-hand experience last year, and he simply wasn't up to watch anyone else take the offensive position this time, especially not from Slytherin.

"Alright, then we need to _talk_ to him." Italy reworded his statement and Arthur didn't see the need to challenge him that time.

"Well you're about to get your way." Eliza came to a sudden stop and the two of them carried on another step before catching themselves. Nervous Gamp just nodded ahead down the hall. "Here they come."

And they were coming quickly. Scorpius and Higgs were charging up the corridor towards them, wands out and terror on the smaller boy's thin face while Higgs looked like a trapped animal when he saw Arthur and Italy blocking his way. Obviously he hadn't moved past that morning, but Scorpius didn't care at all as he grabbed Arthur and Italy by the sleeves and started spitting out words.

"You- you've got to come! Oh my god, it's awful!"

"What?"

"Don't ask just hurry!" Scorpius started pulling and Arthur gave in, looking back just in time to watch Italy snag Gamp by the unwilling hand and drag her along with them. Higgs had his bottom lip between his teeth, his jaw opening and closing like he was trying not to grind his teeth together as he didn't say a word, just grunted and swung a hand for them to follow him and Scorpius through a stone doorway and up a flight of stairs.

The brisk pace turned into a jog, the halls emptying as students either went to class or drifted to their dormitories, until finally the five of them were at a flat run through the hall and up the shifting staircases to the fourth floor.

"There was this awful _scream_-" Higgs panted, keeping pace better than Gamp who complained her books were too heavy and stopped to flick them with her wand to follow and fly behind her.

"It came from the walls- we were just going up to take the short-cut down to the dungeons when we heard it!" Screaming from the fourth floor? But that brought them right near the infirmary so maybe-

"Just come on!"

They ran until they passed the infirmary's white doors and then Scorpius and Higgs began to slow, eyes watching the walls and jumping over the portrait frames. For once, none of the characters painted on the enchanted canvas sheets were present, every ornate frame vacant and backgrounds left with flickering candles or boiling cauldrons with no one to attend them.

"She was right along this wall, one of these..."

"Wait, you mean a _painting_ screamed?" Arthur asked.

"Worse than that." Higgs answered, watching Scorpius search until Gamp gasped and they all walked right into each other.

"What are all of you doing up here?"

All of this outside the infirmary and none of them had thought that maybe, just _maybe_, if Scorpius Malfoy had heard a terrible screaming, then his father Professor Malfoy definitely had as well. He was also far more qualified to deal with it. The five of them were left standing there when the School Healer and their head of house turned on them with the question in the middle of the hall, the Professor standing there in his typical white work robes and green underlayer as the second years each started groping for answers.

"Broomsticks-"

"-and flowers, we-"

"-were going down the passage."

"We _want_ to go down the passage to get to the dormitory." It was a sticky mess of replies and Arthur and Italy both let the children speak for them. Gamp put the cleanest story together but the nations weren't even sure if they'd done enough wrong to warrant giving false answers. Professor Malfoy didn't seem critical either, but behind him between the glass windows was a great big bare patch of stone wall, a few smears of dirt on the massive yellow bricks showing where something _had_ been previously hanging. Whatever Higgs and Scorpius had wanted to show them, the staff had already removed it.

"You've gone about fifty yards _past_ the passage entrance then. Mister Vargas, I expect you to keep better track of these Hogwarts Secrets when you're shown them." Because Italy was the only one who'd been kept long enough in the infirmary to require Professor Malfoy show him the fastest way back down to the dungeons, with the added bonus of having to avoid their flying instructor last year. "Off with you now, there's nothing to see up here."

"Yes Professor." Scorpius was the first one to turn around and he wore a sickly mixture of red and green on his face the entire way back down the hall. When they reached a cracked stone in the wall, Italy pulled out his wand to tap three times and open up a steep stone slide meant to carry them down through the castle at lightning speeds. It was a little bit terrifying and really only worked the one way: if you were coming up from the dungeon then you either had to fly or get ready for a very long flight of stairs.

Higgs and Scorpius used the ride down to gather their thoughts and, in Scorpius's case, composure. It took until the five of them were sitting down around one of the common room's low tables to wait for their astronomy lesson that Scorpius was finally able to explain.

"Somebody cut her up." He stated, voice haunted. "I've never heard of vandalism like it, but somebody took scissors or a knife to the portrait of the flower girl hanging between those windows and slashed it to bits. Higgs and I saw her screaming in the shreds before we tore off to get away from the sound.

"Worst thing I've ever seen." Higgs agreed, and Arthur glanced up to see Higgs' older brother leaning back in a chair and shooting curious glances their way: seventh years were always wary of younger students whispering. "I didn't know the people in pictures could _bleed_." Arthur... _had_ heard of that, but only very rarely. "I'll think twice before I ever go cutting pictures out of the _Prophet_ again..."

So it was, in the end, a sobering way to wrap up their September.

And that set the tone for the rest of the year.

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**Fast update because gdi modem man.**


	19. Try Screaming

**Ezio's Family, Lily's Theme, Courtyard Apocalypse, Snakeskins playlist.**

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_**Snakeskins**_

Try Screaming

The flower girl near the infirmary was only the first painting to be removed that semester. By the time October was nearly over, three more had been taken down off various walls around the school, and it was becoming harder and harder to see or speak to the characters in the rest of the frames.

The painted subjects would forever linger off in the backgrounds, nymphs vanishing behind blurred trees and wizen old wizards finding excuses to walk quickly from frame to frame and find blurred out doors or convenient nooks behind bookshelves to hide from questions.

Quidditch try-outs came roaring up with such enthusiasm from Scorpius that Feliciano had learned to just happily accept the daily reminders of when and how the trials would begin. It meant he couldn't spend another Saturday prowling the halls looking for any painting that would be willing to talk to him: a strange thing after last year when just his touch on enchanted canvas had brought several art pieces happily over for a chat.

Sitting in the cold wind with his green gloves and Slytherin scarf wrapped around his neck and face, Feliciano tried to clap and yell along with England and Gamp in the Slytherin quidditch stands, the seventy-foot tall pillars of wood and stone propped up by barely enough magic to get either nation up here normally. They'd gone to almost all six Quidditch matches last year either to cheer on their house's team or because Scorpius had put on a pleading look that they hadn't understood yet.

Now they understood, because Scorpius Malfoy's most desperate wish was to play on the Slytherin Quidditch team like his father before him, and he was willing to go head-to-head against students from every other year to get it.

Seven players, four balls, a few hundred different rules about not hurting or harming or anything-ing the Seeker, and that was Quidditch. Feliciano wanted to cheer, but he just wrapped his arms a little tighter around the glass jar Gamp had given him with a bright green flame crackling just hard enough inside so the heat bled through his clothes.

"You're pathetic, it's not even that cold out yet." England scolded, looking away from where the Slytherin hopefuls were hovering in the air in front of team captain Thomas Higgs. From second year, both Scorpius and Charles Higgs were poised on their broomsticks listening to him talk and flutter back and forth. Relays, drills, skill challenges: a whole afternoon of practice flying in the nippy air while friends were forced to sit and _freeze_.

"It's _damp_ so j-just-" Feliciano had winters, he had cold ones and snowy ones and he liked going further north beyond his territories to visit friends. But when he was visiting he was usually walking around, or skiing, or hiking, or safe inside cooking up heavy warm meals and keeping fires roaring for the light and ambiance as much as the heat!

He was never, _ever_, just sitting on a wet bench in the half-rain of a Scottish autumn, clothes misted with the cold water that got in his hair, under his arms, behind his knees, over his thighs: _everywhere_. He was freezing cold and as thankful as he was for the fire, he just kept scooting closer to the friends sitting on either side of him.

Sadly, Gamp didn't seem to like it when he did that and kept moving down the bench, so Feliciano had to tempt England's bad mood by scooting up against him instead and getting disgusted looks for it from the other nation.

"_Honestly._"

"It's cold, okay, _cold_."

At least England was just whiney, not actually mean as he refused to shuffle down the bench and just put up with Feliciano trying to sponge warmth off him. Colder nations always had that envious trait of being warmer during the winter months than normal, their people keeping cozy and heated in a way that kept their skin soft and warm instead of seizing up with callouses from the icy winds. It was part of what made Germany so fun to hug all the time, not only was he so big, but warm too whenever a German winter came down and settled over his shoulders.

But Germany wasn't here, England was, and Feliciano was bold enough to just claim the other nation's arm to hold close like the jar. He got away with it until the heat of the flame made England too uncomfortable to stay like that, an elbow in the gut making him let go while he was scolded and they both looked up at the sound of a harsh captain's whistle.

To be a Seeker, you had to be smaller, lighter, and more maneuverable on your broom than the other players. Higgs wasn't trying to get the seeker position, he didn't want it: he'd been practicing to take over as a beater but had admitted that he probably wouldn't make the team until next year. He was holding a beater's club in his hand now and another whistle sent the second year diving down on his broom after a bludger, swatting and knocking the screaming ball back at another student set up fifty yards away. They were defending a set of quaffles wearing Slytherin Quidditch robes, pairs of applicants trying to beat bludgers past their partner's defenses.

England and Gamp were talking over Feliciano's head about the sport when he woke up two hours later, neck kinked where he'd fallen asleep on England's shoulder. They were now sitting in straight pouring rain, the wind making a joke of the high awning that had been drawn over the stands to keep the audience dry. Most of the other Slytherins had retreated with the poor weather, but since England wasn't getting up Feliciano just closed his eyes again to keep away the cold rain spitting him in the face, trying to get back to warm dreams about winter chalets and dark liqueurs over fine food and, ah, everything his winter vacation had better be this year.

"You're still here?" But he looked up again at a familiar voice, eyes squinting through the rain at two hovering shadows of green-grey floating beyond the edge of the stands, rain soaking their robes and little boys' legs dangling from over the edges of broomsticks. How they could rest all their weight like that without hurting themselves was something the completely adult side of Feliciano's brain couldn't cope with. He closed his eyes one more time without answering until England rudely shook him off.

"We said we'd watch the whole thing!" The other nation declared in a snooty tone, Feliciano blinking the sleep away properly now and giving a sharp whine when the wind hit his gut and blew his robes open before he could seize them shut again. "This big baby fell asleep, but Gamp and I paid attention."

"_Fuck you_..." Feliciano muttered, dropping the words in Italian under his breath as he rubbed his face with his soaking wet gloves, irritated again by the cold drips that started down his nose thanks to the water soaking him completely. Stomping his feet just got the water settled on his legs to soak down against his skin-! "That's it! I'm going back to the dorms!" At least it was warm in the dungeon!

"Wait for us you ninny." Scorpius laughed, hanging in the air still and water pouring off the ends of his Quidditch robes. "Or we can just fly you back to the castle."

"I'm not getting on that thing you can't make me do it."

"I still don't get why you didn't try out with us." Higgs spoke up this time. There'd been a really hard few hours on that day when they'd stopped him from beating up the Finnigan brother, but a few attempts to talk about it had finally made Higgs apologize for losing his temper with _'a simple low-blood'_. Feliciano hadn't liked the way Higgs and the others made it a blood and nobility issue instead of just not being a jerk, but if it worked, it worked. "You're a better flyer than me by a mile."

"_No."_ He refused to go along with their idea of _'fun'_ too.

"He can barely _sit_ in the rain, what makes you think he can fly through it?" England laughed, Feliciano aiming a punch at his arm that he regretted when it made a trickle of ice cold Scottish rain go down his spine.

"It's cold! _It's cold!_ It's too cold why are we just sitting out here!?"

They laughed and snickered at his complaints until they reached the Slytherin dorms again, the boys hurrying down their staircase for a hot shower and fresh clothes to get rid of the cold. Feliciano went in knowing he'd take the longest because England barely washed his face and hands with hot water before leaving to change his robes and go write up a formal letter for France's President in the common room.

Scorpius and Higgs were muddy as well as wet, so they took proper showers behind the half walls of the Slytherin bathroom. Each little cubicle of green tile sported a silver shower nozzle and simple dials like what they'd find in any communal bath house, but Feliciano wasn't satisfied just pounding his back with hot water from the school's walls. While the two boys talked about the sport with no sign of changing the subject, Feliciano switched from the showers over to one of the low pools of hot, steaming water.

If there was one thing Feliciano had to give Hogwarts, it was credit for its bath systems. He wasn't sure how regularly teenage boys could be convinced to soak in hot water and soap on their own, but the nation sank up to his skinny shoulders in the green tinted bath and felt the heat soak right through his skin to get at his frozen insides. The water smelled like a cross between light green tea like what Japan served at meetings in summer, and the brush or rosemary or cool sage that teased the nose and kept him from falling asleep.

Well, that and the stubborn chill of the silver cross around his neck, the talisman resting hard and heavy over his ribs despite the hot water. It was uncomfortable to wear it when he just wanted to roll up in warmth and relax…

"Vargas!" He didn't expect boys to get understand about the bath, they wanted to wash up as fast as possible so they could go and enjoy the rest of their Saturday with games and avoiding homework.

"Vargas are you still washing up?" Scorpius appeared with his shorts and pants already on again, a towelled hand going through his blonde hair and bare feet smattering on the damp tiles.

"I told you, it's too cold out there!" Feliciano argued, sinking a little deeper in the bath showing he wasn't ready to get out yet.

"Why're you still wearing that funny thing in the bath?"

"This?" He brought the cross up out of the bath, water dripping off the crystals as they refracted the green light back across the bath's rippled surface. "I always have it on."

"That's what I meant: won't the water do things to it?"

"Nope! There's a charm in place to protect it!"

"What's so special about it?" Scorpius wandered away while asking the question, probably to give him privacy again even though Feliciano didn't mind at all. Even if the tint to the water didn't hide him, there was nothing to be ashamed about with other boys around. "You aren't _always _wearing it, are you?"

"It was a gift." He answered innocently, ignoring the second half of the question. "And religion's still really important to my people." It was embedded in his culture, so even if the Italian Wizarding communities had a different way about it than the Muggles, Chistendom still had enough sway that a mother had given her daughter a silver cross to remind her of home while studying abroad. That Feliciano had taken it in the fall-out of that child's death was just another potent symbol engraved on an artefact of struggle.

The questions stopped after that and the boys, hungry from their practice, said goodbye to him so they could go to the great hall and see what snacks were available for sneaking before dinner.

Feliciano lingered in the hot water, repeatedly closing his hand around the cross and its cold chain trying to tell himself he could definitely slip it off for a few minutes and get away from the icy feeling. Even when he slept, he could only ever heat it up with blankets and his own skin until it was sort of warm, never hot or even comfortable enough to just sink into his chest and go away for a few hours of sleep. He could handle the smaller limbs and higher voice, even the face that still surprised him in mirrors and the strength that gave out when he least expected. It was the cold that made him reluctant to put the charm back on whenever breaks ended and he sent himself back to this place.

Turning it over in his hands, he'd learned more about it over the last year and a half. The six princess-cut crystals that followed the straight back of the cross and the four smaller squares embedded along the cross piece. There was a round opal set in the centre, its white surface glittering and swirling sometimes like smoke trapped in glass. There was no Latin or Italian engraved into it, just the uneven back where a nervous thumb and fingers had worn the silver down with unanswered prayers.

His hand was cold when he let it fall back into the water, silently pleased that instead of falling almost to his stomach the cross rested against his ribs now. It was still too low to go hoisting out of his shirt, but the new length made it less of a bother.

Finally finishing up, Feliciano was happy to go upstairs to a blanket and his cat curled up on one of the couches, Gino waking up from his nap to meow happily and paw into Feliciano's lap as the nation sat down and rubbed his pet's soft ears. At four centuries old, the feline was happy to just boop his nose with its own and nuzzle its face under his chin while the children talked of wizarding sports and England was lost to the world with his letter writing and fact-checking in the corner.

So it was a quiet, relaxing Saturday evening, and after dinner it turned into a soft night of darkness in the Slytherin dorms, warmth and peace and contented children who slept soundly in their beds.

Until they heard the scream.

Just one scream, blood-curdling and terrifying. Feminine and lingering, it clawed through the black air and Feliciano felt himself wake up choking on emotions that weren't his, smothered with fear that didn't belong to him as the boy's dormitory lights flared brighter than he'd ever seen around the four beds. Higgs, England and Scorpius were all sitting straight up in bed, horror and blanket confusion covering their faces, the silence swallowing the signs of sharp pants under baggy nightshirts and pale hands grasping at bedsheets looking for wands.

The nations shared a look and Feliciano knew whatever he'd just felt, England was still choking on it. They were out of bed at once and the two boys on either side of them both panicked as soon as England pulled the sheets back.

"Don't you _dare!_"

"You stay in bed don't you even _think_ about leaving!" Feliciano ignored Higgs, shaking and fumbling with his own legs, stomach jumping telling him to do exactly what Scorpius wanted, but England was already taking the stuffing out of the smaller boy.

"Are you deaf? That sound came from the girl's dorms, I'm going up to the common room to find out what happened!" Feliciano didn't want to go quite that far, but he also_ really_ didn't want to stay curled up in bed where whatever it was could eat him. If England was leaving then he didn't want to be stuck with only two twelve year old boys for protection!

"Are you _daft_?" Scorpius bit back. "The girl's dorms are a stone wall and washroom away from us and we heard it _clear as day!_"

"Yes we did, so how loud do you think the girls heard it?" Hearing his own words made it easier to get out of bed and throw the school robe on the foot of his bed up over his shoulders, looking for his wand case and sliding the black rod into it up the sleeve. Gino was standing alert at the end of the bed where the pet had been woken up, whiskers out and brown ears twitching looking for more sounds, no tail to fluff up but plenty of white poof down its back showing the animal was as tense as he was.

"Surprised we haven't heard Gamp crying yet then." Higgs sounded like he hated himself a little bit for bringing that up. As much as the bigger child didn't want to, he started rolling his blankets down and shuffling very slowly out of bed.

Scorpius, outvoted, was fast to join them. As soon as they opened their door they saw a sleepy fourth year boy hanging out in the door to his own dormitory, a few quiet voices from the fifth and sixth years before a familiar voice was heard giving a scolding behind the first year dorm door.

"And that's enough!" Head Boy Zabini was chastising, too busy dealing with three terrified little boys to notice the second years creeping past the door. "You're Slytherins so you'd better act like it! You live in the dungeons for goodness' sake: generations of Slytherins sleeping right in line with the Basalisk's chamber and no one ever- no, _no,_ don't take it like... someone get him a tissue!"

Up in the common room itself all the lights were blazing, some sort of silent alarm probably going off since it looked like every Slytherin girl had come straight out of the dorms in their nightgowns and housecoats, slippers and house robes trodding over each other as the Head Girl was going around with both Slytherin Prefects to make sure tears were given tissues and pairs of boy and girlfriends weren't able to sneak too far from the rest of the group.

Feliciano turned around just as they were entering the common room to get a look at England, whose face went extremely pale right before flushing up and his green eyes started flashing around the room. The fear was heavy in the air, most of it sleepy and confused, more shocked than reacting to immediate danger. If England hadn't been right in the middle of it, he probably wouldn't have noticed there was anything wrong, but he was here, and the problem was very real to him.

The only girl they had the right to go up and talk to was Eliza Gamp, who was suspiciously hard to find. She was in their year, she spent more time with them than the other girls anyways, and Feliciano could tell how angry England was when they found her down just beyond the gender-lock charm in the girl's stairwell, knees up to her face, shaking so hard she seemed about ready to come apart. She'd taken out her braid and her hair was in straggled locks down the back of her white nightgown, green school robes flung over the white cotton gown and not resting quite right around her.

"Ellie?"

"Gamp! Gamp, look up here will you?"

"Ellie c'mon, this isn't the time!"

England didn't say anything trying to get her to move, Feliciano was busy turning around looking for another girl, one of the older ones maybe, to come and help them. When England crouched down and pushed Scorpius aside, his voice fell in a way that made the babble and anxiety of the common room fade a little.

"Eliza, please." Soft and smooth, England put enough strength in his words so there was enough substance behind the sounds for her to lean on. "Just be strong for a few more minutes." Because to say she wasn't strong would just hurt her even more.

Hearing her nation speak to her like that got a reaction out of her, even if it wasn't what the boys wanted. She pulled her arms up over her head, shaking it back and forth a few times to deny England as she sniffed and gasped hard between her knees. It was hard to watch.

"Just leave her," one of the other Slytherin second year girls came up, a particularly mean look on her sleepy face. "Nothing happened to us, it was the seventh year girls who woke everyone up."

"Can you just help bring her up here?" Scorpius asked, only to tighten up visibly across the shoulders when their blonde classmate just turned her nose up in the air and sniffed harshly.

"The half-blood isn't my problem."

England jumped to his feet and tried to push past Feliciano. He almost moved out of the way but felt the heat that flashed through the blonde's skin and almost burned him through his clothes, immediately hooking an arm under England's shoulder and swinging his weight around to catch the other one in a fast hold.

He got a numbing kick to the shin from England's bare heel and a half-choked swear, but Feliciano just hung on tighter and wove his fingers together behind England's neck, pressing hard to force him over without letting him try and swing their combined weight forward throw Feliciano over his back. Bending his knees brought his weight back further and made it harder for England to kick at him again, the grappling over as soon as Higgs turned and saw them and barked at England to stop acting like a dog.

"I don't like it either, but cut it out!" Feliciano was proud to hear Higgs take that tone of voice, but winced at what came after. "Now who isn't acting like a pureblood, Kirkland?"

"_I'm half!_" England hissed, and Feliciano very nearly dropped them both on the floor. They hadn't talked about blood status at all and he just-!

Scorpius and Higgs both jumped at the comment, looking at England like he'd just grown a new head. If they had an opinion beyond that, it was crushed by the sudden wash of magic over the common room and the rain of sparks that fell over the girls' stairwell.

The gender charm winked out at once, and then Professor Malfoy was sweeping over the four of them with nothing but a frigid glance at Feliciano that made him drop England like he'd been burned.

Professor Malfoy noticed Gamp too, but he moved wordlessly down the stairs and was followed immediately by the Head Girl who led him straight to whichever door they needed. Feliciano knew he shouldn't but he fell in step behind the two prefects who followed. He got away with it by timing his jump with Scorpius darting down the stairs to reach Gamp, and the complete distraction washing over the older Slytherins and head of house as they moved.

The girl's dorms looked the same as the boys, just inverted for architecture's sake. All seven doors were wide open and it was the first one on the left that the girls and Professor Malfoy swept into, Feliciano stopping and hanging just at the corner so he could peer inside and try to hear what they said.

"Who did this?"

"None of us, Professor, I swear!"

Professor Malfoy rounded on the Head Girl, wand out, and tapped her between the eyes with the tip.

"Tell the truth!" He barked, evoking the truth charm that came with Prefect and Head student privileges.

"I swear on my honour as Head Girl, no other girls from Slytherin House were in the seventh year dorm when this happened, and all four of us were in bed and woke up at the same time with the scream!"

"There are _five_ seventh year Slytherin girls, Miss Lovecraft." And the Head Girl squirmed hard under her charm when he pointed that out, but then bowed to the compulsion and answered:

"Margaret was not in bed at the time, sir."

"And _where_ was Miss Margaret Adams?"

"Not... in the dormitory, sir."

It sounded like someone sneaking out, and given the uncomfortable squirm that hit the Prefects behind Miss Lovecraft, it probably had something to do with dating and being seventeen in a school fraught with secret passages and segregated dormitories.

As much as Feliciano loved to gossip, his attention waned from the interrogation to look at what had caused all the trouble for them. There was a thick picture frame on the wall, the green lights from the five beds burning brighter than normal because of the alarm running through the house, the far away drop and wash of lake water was trying to sooth the tension but failing.

The canvas was ripped open, a bit of blue sky stained black by the tears, paint crumbled and chipped where it was dusting the floor after the assault. There was movement somewhere in the shreds, but it was faint and it felt painful, the air around the frame resonating with hurt and pain and fear that was probably the reason the entire house had woken up so suddenly.

"Ten points from Slytherin for failing to keep your peers in order, Miss Lovecraft, and an additional five if Miss Adams doesn't have an _impressive_ tale to tell me when I find her."

Feliciano wanted a better look at the portrait, he wanted to see the frame and touch the rips and tears in the enchanted canvas. Part of it was his own experience with painting and art, but the rest... This made at least four acts of vandalism and yet not one student had come as close as he was right now to _seeing_ the damage.

"Something like this happening in the dormitories... Who saw the Bloody Baron tonight?" Professor Malfoy's question was met with confused silence.

"No... No one, sir?" Head Girl Lovecraft stated softly. "Come to think of it, I can't remember the last time I saw him around Slytherin house at all."

"Or in the halls." One of the Prefects spoke up, a stocky fifth year girl who looked just confused by the question. Feliciano wasn't sure who the Bloody Baron was, but he remembered England mentioning him before and knew he could just ask him later.

Or now, because he really didn't feel like getting caught while eavesdropping like this.

Hurrying back up the stairs to his friends, the other second years had succeeded in getting Gamp out of the stairwell and into a chair in the common room. Higgs was yawning and falling asleep since nothing exciting was happening anymore, and Scorpius had his arms folded harshly and a puzzled look on his face. Someone had summoned hot chocolate from the kitchens and Gamp was being settled with a cup of that, eyes red and swollen from crying where she didn't seem to be answering any of England or Scorpius' questions. She was just tired, and Feliciano got a suspicious stare from Scorpius when he reappeared.

"Where did you go off to?"

"Where do you think?" He answered cryptically, leaving Scorpius with a bothered face before looking at England.

The other nation didn't ask what he'd seen or make a fuss about Feliciano sneaking off, he just went back to making sure Gamp drank down the sweet drink in her mug and told Higgs to just go back to bed if he was so tired.

Once Higgs agreed and wandered off with a few more of the boys, some of the girls went down to their own beds before Professor Malfoy reappeared and told the seventh year girls to remain upstairs in the common room. The look he gave the cluster of second years told them to get out and go back to bed.

It meant leaving Gamp behind with her cocoa because they couldn't just take her down to the boy's dormitory, and the silent march back down to their shared room was stifling.

England kept trying to catch Feliciano's eye as they meandered past taller students and slipped back through their door, the lights inside dimmed back down to normal levels now that the Professor was present and was working to calm everything and everyone so they could get back to sleep. Tomorrow was Sunday, but that didn't mean staying up all night was encouraged by the school.

Feliciano fell asleep with the cold weight of his cross digging into his chest again, arms wrapped up in blankets and his pet curled up quietly next to him without the usual lull of a content purr to help him nod off.

Even if he wouldn't have another chance to see the paintings tomorrow, at least he could always ask about the Baron…

* * *

**I think I named the cat Itabby in some of the earlier chapters, but that was just because I couldn't for the life of me remember that the pet's fandom name is GINO. Thank you!**


	20. Bloody Baron Circumstances

**Quidditch (HP 1 OST), Snakeskins Playlist**

* * *

_**Snakekins**_

Bloody Baron Circumstances

When Italy began asking questions about the Bloody Baron, Arthur found himself wrapped up in a brand new mystery. Where _was_ the Slytherin house ghost?

He hadn't noticed it until Halloween rolled around, but the older students had been wondering much the same thing for weeks already. He hadn't been spotted once this year, not even high up on the Astronomy tower which was supposed to be his favourite place to rattle his chains and moan.

"Maybe he's just extra moody this year. Bit of a shame for the rest of us though." The Baron was supposed to be summonable if you rattled a small length of chain hanging from the Slytherin fireplace, but every few hours you could hear someone rattling it, shaking it, whipping it back and forth so hard one of the Prefects gave a scolding for almost breaking it. But he never came.

Scorpius got his hands on a silk handkerchief from somewhere, a silver sickle wrapped inside and the second years left that in a folded square up in the Astronomy tower before one of their lessons one night to tempt his favour. No luck.

"_Halloween time, Kirkland. He'll show up at the feast for sure!"_

But he didn't.

Pumpkin juice and floating jack-o-lanterns, jinxed hats that screamed when worn and books that started snapping at careless fingers. Halloween was always a fun time at Hogwarts and this year was no different, but while Nearly Headless Nick, the Fat Friar and the Grey Lady all made very brief appearances, the Bloody Baron did not.

The issue of ghosts and hauntings was distracted by the first Slytherin Quidditch match of the year. Scorpius actually came quite close to losing his nerve completely on the morning of the match in mid-November, and it came down to Arthur and Higgs dragging him out of bed and forcing a sweater over his pajamas while Italy was uselessly laughing and making jokes about _'how bad could it be?'_.

"You wanted this." Arthur scolded, getting mint paste on a toothbrush that was either Scorpius' or Higgs', and firmly shoving the bristled head in Scorpius' mouth when he opened up to protest.

"The worst that'll happen is you fall off your broom and we lose the match completely." Italy had the right idea to help encourage the other boy along, and Higgs was strapping the wrong guard to Scorpius' wrist over his backwards shirt.

"And then Gryffindor will laugh at us from now until Christmas." Arthur agreed, pointing Italy in the direction of Scorpius' wardrobe so the other nation could begin poking around for his Quidditch robe. "And it will all be your fault."

_"Stop it!"_

It took Thomas Higgs pounding on the dorm door and putting the fear of God into Scorpius to settle the matter completely. He got his own teeth brushed, clothes changed, and gear strapped on before Slytherin's new Seeker fled the house. And of course-

_"Your broom!"_

Italy had to fly it down while the rest of the house sat quietly in the common room waiting for the call to go down to the Quidditch stadium. The atmosphere was tense, but not frantic: someone passed around self-waving streamers of green and silver, and when Italy came back after delivering the broom Arthur got him with his wand again and painted the house colours across his head.

Italy was less than enthused about this, but for the sake of house pride he didn't kick up a fuss.

It was Higgs who kicked _Arthur_ when it turned out that _someone_ had put a red and gold lion on the back of his robes. Arthur was very nearly stampeded out of the house and had to tear his class robe off and jump on it before Italy stopped laughing so hard and one of the prefects blasted the hateful lion away.

Obviously, they were playing against Gryffindor house. They marched together as seven years in a group, intent on walking in unison and creating an entrance as they flowed out of the castle and across the wet green grass to the Quidditch pitch. The enchanted steps of the green and silver Slytherin observation tower were easier than seventy feet of straight climb should have been, even for short first and second year legs, and there were plenty of hard wet wooden seats waiting for them when they got there.

Directly across the pitch from Slytherin stood Gryffindor's red and gold tower, the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws taking up the east and west positions around the oval field and sand banks under the quaffle hoops.

The weather held up, the sun beating off the cold November clouds and the mountain whistling with wind that could make quite an impact on a flying sport.

"What happens if he does crash?" Italy asked from beside him, his hair such a shock in the sunlight with its green and silver streaks that Arthur jumped every _single_ time he turned around to look at him. If it wouldn't have been unsportsmanlike, he would have undone the jinx just to spare himself the sight of it.

"Well, his father's the School Healer so I imagine he'd be fine."

"That's good."

"Unless he dies instantly."

"What-!?"

"_And now, welcome to the first Quidditch Match of the school year! Introducing the Gryffindor team! The captain this year is-_"

It didn't matter who the captain was, the stadium exploded with noise as a curtain in the Gryffindor tower fell away and out came a series of red and gold blurs. The seven Gryffindor players shot into the sunlight and few in a sharp V-formation as the names were rambled off with positions, the beaters and keeper and chasers and, finally, the seeker.

The last two names were the most worthwhile, because first came the name "Albus Potter" for one of the Chaser positions, then "James" for the seeker.

Oh dear...

_"Facing off against House Cup Champion Gryffindor today, get ready- Team Slytherin!"_

It didn't matter that Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff didn't cheer this time. It didn't matter that Gryffindor's stands made low, threatening noises. It didn't matter a damned bit, because every member of Slytherin house stood up when the roar of seven racing brooms rocketed out of their tower. They stood and they yelled and they cheered, stomping their feet in time with a house chant no one could really hear properly.

Both teams circled and dove around each other, warm-up drills and the distant drift of captains' voices. Thomas Higgs was like a vulture circling high over his team, streaks of white down the arms of his robes marking him as the captain, a tall boy on another broom in red and gold robes bearing the same stripes and joining his team's laps around the stadium. With a hard whistle from the ground, all fourteen flyers came down to hover in position, Scorpius and James Potter higher over the line of players and both keepers hanging back closer to the goal-posts.

It was good that Scorpius didn't look over at the stands to search for them; he seemed completely focused on whatever Professor Desford was saying on the ground. Thomas Higgs and the Gryffindor Captain both landed and shook hands, which was a nicer way of saying they charged each other and then tried to snap the other boy's wrists in a grapple, then mounted their brooms and took off again to hover and wait for the release.

The snitch went first, and Arthur felt himself leaning hard on the wooden rail in front of him watching Scorpius and James Potter both struggle to keep their eyes on the flittering gold ball before it zipped away and vanished.

_"On my whistle-!"_

The quaffle was in the professor's hands, Desford's checkered black and white robes fluttering in the wind. Please let the weather hold.

Up went the quaffle and a kick set the blundgers loose, Desford's whistle screamed between her lips before either attacking ball was past her knees.

The game was _on._

Higgs' brother had every right to be team captain, because it was a Gryffindor chaser who took the bright red quaffle with its hard ridges first, and the Slytherin Captain zipped straight past her and knocked it out of her hands from below, not even holding it as his arm lobbed the ball straight up and back over his head into the hands of a fifth year Arthur didn't know.

But a bludger knocked that girl sideways so hard she only kept her broom by hooking her knees over the shaft and spinning wildly trying not to fall.

It was an absolutely vicious battle for the quaffle and the measly ten points to get it through any of the raised hoops, and after five minutes with only commentary from the teachers' stands, Arthur and Italy both started looking for the snitch.

"_Potter's in a dive!"_ And Scorpius was half-way across the other side of the field before breaking into his own panicked spiral to go after whatever James Potter had seen.

"_He's faking!" _Arthur jumped when he heard Italy shout beside him, he looked and saw Italy pointing at the Hufflepuff benches, a flash of gold hitting the light before it struck off in another direction.

He turned right around and cuffed Italy in the back of the head.

"You can see the bloody thing from _here_ and you didn't join the damned team!?"

But Potter's dive was a fake, which was confusing because the younger Potter had the quaffle under his arm and was screaming through the air past the Ravenclaw benches. A wild bludger came out of nowhere past Slytherin and their classmates let out a roar before the Slytherin Keeper was trapped between an attempt to score and the very real danger of being beaten in the head with the maniacal toy.

Gryffindor scored, but at least the Keeper kept his head.

The game kept going like that for the next ten minutes at least, but when the Seekers did see the snitch this time there was nothing fake about the dive James Potter performed. He was only forced to break away when a smartly hit bludger screamed towards the ground and looped back up straight at his face.

Scorpius was a blur but the snitch was almost out of sight, Potter going straight after him as the stadium stopped caring about a kick to the head over the quaffle. Scorpius' broom wavered in the air before jetting forward and looping wide around the Hufflepuff tower to chase the snitch in a spiral straight up and around it. Arthur didn't hear himself yelling until he noticed that the trembling down his arms and legs was from him beating his own hands on the rail.

The snitch broke straight up, looped once and fired directly at the Slytherin tower, it was such a long distance that there was no way it would stay on that path for long, but James Potter came out of nowhere to cannonball Scorpius from the side, a boot shoved against his broom so the smaller boy went spinning like a helicopter, weight completely thrown off at the shoulders until he pitched straight backwards off the stick.

"_NO!"_

_"_It was a joke-_ don't let him fall!"_

His fingertips made a grab and then _slipped_. He dropped like a bird shoved from the nest, robes flapping and going head and shoulders first to the ground. The _noise_ from Slytherin tower was unbearable.

Team Captain Thomas Higgs was a black blur through the air that got a hand in Scorpius' robes and twisted his broom hard in a shallow dive that kept him from snapping the Seeker's neck or popping his spine. They screamed to the ground in a controlled fall before he let Scorpius drop the last four feet and the younger player tucked his arms and shoulders in just right to fall into a roll and land back on his feet, breaking into a run for his broom when he called it.

_"Potter's done it!"_ But it just wasn't good enough._ "James Potter's caught the snitch! A hundred and fifty points to Gryffindor, this match is over!"_

Scorpius had his eyes on the sky when he heard the announcement and the roaring from the other three houses. Potter and the Gryffindor team, including his younger brother, were performing a loud victory lap straight past the Slytherin stands, the snitch still fighting in his grip.

It... really wasn't the end of Scorpius's day that any of them had hoped for.

"Buck up, Malfoy, there's no shame in it!" What made it even worse was how, even an hour after the game was over, Scorpius simply refused to leave the team room. The chamber was hexed to keep non-team members out regardless of house or gender, so the four other second years were stranded at the door trying to coax him to come out.

Arthur was getting quite fed up with enchantments taking one of the five in their circle beyond the reach of the rest. First Gamp, now Malfoy, it was ridiculous.

"_I fell_."

"And you landed on your feet like a proper player, now get out of there." But at least when someone else was having a moment of agony, Eliza was much firmer than normal. "If you don't stop sulking the whole house will know!"

"Tell them I'm polishing my broom."

"Except you're _not_ polishing it."

"Too much polish is probably what got you in trouble in the first place!"

Arthur didn't settle for glaring at Italy's comment, he straight up stomped on his foot for it. Eliza's black-eyed look burnt him just as harshly.

"Don't make me go get Tom," Higgs threatened next, if that mild tone of voice was supposed to be scary. "He already gave the team a chat and he won't be happy if I make him come back here."

"You _wouldn't_." Scorpius's voice sulked.

"Fine, he's in the library so you lot watch this one while I go-"

"_No don't!_"

They did eventually get him out of the locker room, and Higgs did end up in detention later that week for punching out one of their Hufflepuff classmates in Astronomy.

Arthur and Italy didn't get in the way to stop him, because honestly they hadn't found a joke about pushing Scorpius off the tower to see how he'd land very funny. Circumstances being what they were, Arthur finally pulled his old Nimbus Two-Thousand-and-One out of his wardrobe where he'd stuffed it despite bringing it all the way to Hogwarts. It became a Sunday routine after rounds of homework to get themselves out into the cold and the wind and help Scorpius practice and get over the rotting weight in his gut.

Well, it became Arthur's routine to watch this, because if Italy was left on the ground then he'd whine and cry and pester whoever else was on the ground with him to lend him their scarf or a hug or a warming charm because it was too cold. Considering all four of them had broomsticks and he didn't, the complications were obvious.

"I think Vargas is really very silly sometimes." Yes, Arthur thought so too, but he also knew the same sorts of dirty tricks on a broomstick that Scorpius wasn't used to while flying with his father and grandfather at Malfoy Manor. Gamp was less willing to get her hands dirty, so more often than not she'd hover with a beater's club in her hands over Arthur while Italy took Scorpius up higher into the air and performed all kinds of nearly-illegal stunts. Higgs was forever on hand with a copy of his brother's book of Quidditch Rules and Regulations, and it was quite amusing to watch Scorpius land in the mud every few minutes after being sent right off his stick.

Scorpius' declaration of absolute frustration on these weekends was always: _"That one can't be legal!"_, which he happened to say quite often.

"Well did he use his elbow?" And Higgs was always quick with the book to check.

"N-No..."

"Then it's legal."

There were a thousand ways to foul a Seeker in Quidditch, but between Higgs and two nations they found the one thousand and one _other_ ways to get around the fouls. Their goal of course wasn't to teach Scorpius how to _cheat_ since he was never the one performing the kicks and grabs back on them, but to help him learn how to fly around and avoid them.

It was the bludger fouls that almost killed the poor boy however, something Eliza demonstrated one snowy afternoon just two days before the Hogwarts Express was set to leave and take them home for Christmas. She smacked the cackling attack ball at Scorpius' broomstick handle, it collided with the head, and instead of maintaining his grip and keeping his balance as they'd all reasoned would work, the broom shot straight back out of his hands, past his legs, and he landed face-first on the ground.

He nearly broke his neck and they all got a harsh scolding from Healer Malfoy when he found out how _exactly_ Scorpius had broken his nose (for the third time, mind you). There seemed to be a clear understanding between father and son that if he didn't stop letting his friends try and kill him, Scorpius' broom would be locked up good and tight someplace where the boy would _never_ find it again.

It was while they were lingering in the halls after their scolding that Arthur remembered something he'd been meaning for months to go back in and ask Scorpius' father about. Scorpius' health aside, their head of house really wasn't that frightening a man to have watching over them. He was also Head of Slytherin and Arthur's question was rather innocent, not something that needed excessive delicacy.

"The Bloody Baron?" Professor Malfoy wasn't very scary because he wasn't the sort of man who could stay angry for very long. Could he hold a grudge? Possibly, but he never thought to do so with young children and their stupid ways. Sometimes all it took was a quick jump out of his line of sight to make him either completely forget or utterly burry whatever issue had made him verbally beat you into the ground ten minutes earlier. He was incredibly adept at taking issues and compartmentalizing them, it was probably what made him such a skilled healer.

So when Arthur slunk back into the infirmary and asked his question, the tall, pale wizard pulled his lips down like a frown while letting his eyebrows hike up his forehead. A strange expression, but one of his usual ones when asked a question that was neither bothersome nor particularly important. Scorpius was sitting in utter dejection on one of the beds nearby, a quill in his hand with a bit of parchment where he was writing something down and holding a tissue to his as-of-yet unhealed nose.

"Come to think of it, I suppose the Baron hasn't been around lately has he? Peeves must be..." The professor paused, a glass vial resting on a hovering bronze tray where he'd been in the middle of combining a sweet-smelling concoction with one that reeked of onions and grass clippings. He looked up slowly with a more puzzled face this time before finding his voice again and finishing up his task.

"I don't think Peeves has been around either. Do you know him, Kirkland?"

"I know _of_ him, sir. I haven't seen him since I arrived."

"Not ever?"

His questions didn't find answers, just a polite request to leave the infirmary and not worry himself about the issue this close to Christmas.

Understandably, Scorpius was barred from inviting friends home for winter break that year, and furthermore when they took the train home he claimed he could still taste whatever his father had made him drink to fix his nose.

"What were you writing, by the way?"

"An apology letter to my mum." Just saying it made Scorpius' face go funny before he bonelessly slid down to the compartment floor, mimicking one of Italy's usual stunts by grabbing the Italian student's robe and hiding under it at his feet. "I'm _dead_. Absolutely dead. I thought she'd send a howler for sure."

"It's just a bit of Quidditch practice." Higgs argued.

"Mum _hates_ Quidditch." Oh... Well in that case then yes, Scorpius was going to die. They made a big show of talking about who would get his broomstick and his chess board next semester, and Italy started going through his bag to see if he still had that speech-to-text quill.

"_You're supposed to be my friends!"_

And they were, which was why Gamp started crying when they got off the train and Mrs. Malfoy was the first adult to come near them group. Arthur would have cried too if he'd been the one to break her baby's nose though, not because Mrs. Malfoy was at all the sort of woman to cause a scene or scold a child who wasn't hers, but because the way she took Scorpius' chin in her hand and tipped his head back to get a good look at his face was only sweet and kindly until you saw her _eyes_.

Scary things, those eyes.

Downright terrifying.

But Gamp apologized and then Higgs said he was sorry too, and because Italy was a coward he shrieked an apology from behind Eliza's trunk. Arthur was about to add his sentiments when he got a tender pat on the head from Mrs. Malfoy and she cooed that they were all darling children who were over-reacting, but she was so happy that Scorpius had good friends to count on and look after him.

Arthur made a point of lording that gesture of affection over Italy for the entire two week break:

"I hear what you're saying about interest rates, Germany, but _Mrs. Malfoy likes me more._"

"What… What does that have to do with anything? Italy where are you going? _It's not break time yet!"_

So, vandalized paintings and missing ghosts aside, it wasn't a terrible end to first term.


	21. Dead Paint

**Snakeskins Playlist.**

* * *

**_Snakeskins_**

Dead Paint

Going back to Hogwarts in January meant picking the real issues of their stay back up. Not potions essays and Quidditch tactics, but the disappearances:

The Bloody Baron was gone, along with Peeves the school poltergeist.

After Christmas the ghosts themselves were hard to find and unusually quiet, brief in their appearances. This applied to everyone except Nearly Headless Nick from Gryffindor- sort of. He was intolerant towards Slytherins and would vanish straight through walls if he saw anyone in green coming near him, but Arthur did see him hovering over students from his own house and chatting quietly with them at least once a week.

It was a little bit insulting, but the teachers had adopted the position that the Baron was probably just hiding down at the bottom of the lake and would come back eventually. He was a Hogwarts ghost, specifically a house representative. He would be back, they were sure of it.

Arthur just really wished the Baron's return could have been the day Nearly Headless Nick broke his vow of silence against Slytherins. Because not only did he do that, but he chose one of their potions lessons down in the dungeons to make his move. It was rather like a cold slap in the face.

"_Kirkland..._"

Professor Slughorn had nodded off behind his desk while letting them work on vats of swelling solution. It was review before they'd move onto new content for the semester, which was strange because they'd already reviewed it before Christmas, but since everyone was quite confident in their abilities on the Slytherin side of the room no one protested or pointed out this obvious lapse in the syllabus.

"A suspicious name to carry, even worse to go asking questions with." Sir Nicholas came right in through the classroom wall, drifting with hands clasped behind his back before he promptly dropped to the floor like he suddenly had weight and mass. This was an illusion, because he walked straight through Eliza Gamp's desk, finding Arthur with his black eyes before taking off into the air again and drifting back between the Gryffindor students where Albus Potter nervously shuffled trying to escape the inevitable dousing of cold ghost essence.

He rose up again at once much like a whale breaching through a wave or a massive owl spreading its wings over a nest to protect the students behind him. The display was a mystery to the children but Arthur looked away and saw Italy watching him very closely and maybe even fingering the end of his wand.

"Have I done something, Sir Nicholas?" Arthur asked.

"_No_," The ghost answered, reedy voice high and almost offended as he washed over another Gryffindor and the boy performed a full-body shiver with his tongue sticking out as a reaction to the feeling. Sir Nicholas didn't notice, his chin wagging a bit too much where the wide ruffs around his neck weren't doing a very good job of keeping him secure. The ghost's hands were still clasped as he floated up in front of Arthur, and he could feel Scorpius gripping the back of his robe where their potion smelled like it was starting to burn. "But that's precisely the thing, Mister Kirkland. You're a _boy_."

"I don't fancy I'd look that great in a skirt." The twitter of nervous laughter from the other slytherins made the jab worth it, but the ghost came so close to him as a result that Arthur felt his nose going cold.

"The Kirkland I knew was never a boy..."

"That sounds a bit crazy, don't you think?" Even nations were children for at least a little while. Perhaps never babies, and often not young for very long, but still. They had their time. "Are you here to tell me where the Bloody Baron is, or should I get back to my brewing, sir?"

"I can assure you, Kirkland, when I find out where he's gotten off to, you _won't_ be on my list of people to tell first."

"What's wrong with the name Kirkland?" He then demanded, sensing that the ghost was getting ready to vanish. The affronted look on Sir Nicholas' face made Arthur regret asking.

"A blunted axe, Mister Kirkland. A blunted axe."

It took several letters home over January into February pestering Wales before a new owl arrived alongside Scotland's mangy, angry familiar. A brown barn owl with inquisitive green eyes and a great love of being petted on the head brought a letter from his other brother, and inside was the patchwork story written in multiple different inks showing how many times Wales had forgotten to finish it. Executions had a habit of blurring together once you were around for more than a few centuries, but when the reason was a noble from your king's court transfiguring a noble lady's front teeth into a giant tusk, things tended to stick.

_"What I'm saying is, I guess I shoulda been a bit nicer and let him have the sword instead."_ Yes, Wales, maybe that would have been the_ nicer_ thing to do. No wonder the Gryffindor House ghost hated him, but it was his _brother_ he should have been intolerant of- England was innocent!

By the time Valentine's day passed them, Arthur could tell that Italy was plenty fed up with their lack of progress. Either he wanted an answer for the Bloody Barron, Peeves the Poltergeist, One-Eyed William and several other ghosts students claimed they couldn't find around the castle anymore, or he wanted access to those scarred paintings.

Considering Valentine's was marked by the shrill screams of two more paintings and an abrupt end to the red-pink-and-white festival that Sunday afternoon, Italy's preference as far as the mysteries went was obvious.

"We're confined to the common room so I don't know what you expect."

Italy didn't answer him where the twelve-year-old boy was reclined in a green chair in the dungeons, fingers drumming on the polished wooden knob at the end of the arm-rest. Higgs was with his brother and Scorpius looking at Quidditch numbers from the national teams, and Gamp had excused herself to go write a letter home. It gave Arthur and Italy a bit of relative privacy in the crowded room, but the other nation wasn't about to suggest a game of cards or chess to pass the time.

In fact, he had a particularly grim look on his face, one Arthur didn't appreciate because it made him think of a time long long ago when Italy had been almost that same size and worn exactly the same face. Spices had never tasted so bitter as when they'd passed through Venetian hands.

"What are you thinking?" Arthur asked, sitting up a bit straighter when he realized Italy's silence was backed up by the way his brown eyes seemed half out of focus. They didn't follow him when Arthur moved, but darted off somewhere else like he was about to turn his head, irii floating back into position a moment later. He was still drumming his fingers, but his impassive face didn't shift when Arthur drew his wand and flicked it several times with the random lights on the tip like he was drawing for a game.

Arthur pointed his wand at an abandoned snap card resting on the table, it gave a loud pop, and while he terrified one of the first years, his friend didn't react.

"What are you _doing?_" Dropping his voice to a hiss, Arthur stood up and walked over to the chair, nudging Italy's hand off the arm-rest and hiking a leg up so he could sit on it next to him, looking down like they were having a conversation when there was clearly no communication. Brushing a few wayward strands of cat-hair off his own robe, Arthur stopped when he saw the nest of white hairs on the front of Italy's robe, but a quick glance around the common room told him the cat was nowhere to be found.

"You didn't-"

He jumped up and immediately went down to the second year dorms, ripping the covers back off Italy's bed before marching straight back upstairs to the common room.

Italy was still practically comatose, and Arthur stood fuming in front of him for the next several minutes, wand in his hand and arms folded tersely as he waited. It took a wretchedly long time, and then as suddenly as he'd fallen into his trance, Italy took a deep breath though his nose, blinked his eyes, and seemed to tense up all at once before stretching his shoulders back and limbering up all at once with a great big yawn.

Arthur made sure to wave his wand directly in front of the idiot's nose, a threatening green afterimage following the tip and getting the other nation to tense up suddenly, shoulders pressed back and one foot braced on the table in front of him.

"Don't _ever_ do that again." Arthur hissed.

"Do what?"

"Where's your cat?"

Italy smiled with a satisfied turn of the lips, head nodding to the side before he shrugged. Before he could lie and say he didn't know, Arthur got a foot up on the chair and took Italy hard by the collar, jerking him up and ignoring the pouty look he put on. He was too two-faced for his own good sometimes.

"If you get caught doing magic like that then this whole thing will be over before you know it." How did Italy want to explain a low level possession spell? Arthur didn't care that Gino, as a familiar and centuries old, had probably been completely willing to go for a stroll around the castle with Feliciano looking through his eyes. It wasn't about animal cruelty, it was about the animal being found out by a professor, caught, and the spell sensed before it could dissipate properly. No second or third year child at Hogwarts could use distance magic like that, it wasn't only beyond their skill and focus level, but no doubt banned as well.

"Maybe," He answered with a sickeningly self-satisfied tone, a hand around Arthur's and telling him to let go. Arthur relented, but he made a point of tossing Italy back against the chair. "But I didn't get caught." Watching him settle back down in his seat, one ankle up and resting on his other knee. He still looked too damned comfortable reclined like that. "And I found what I was looking for."

The idiot cat spent the night trapped outside the Slytherin dorms and was less than thrilled when one of the seventh years opened the door the next morning and the damp, shivering animal bolted inside to find Italy's bed and wake them all up with its caterwauling. But none of that could shake Italy's smile off his face.

He'd found the paintings.

* * *

"You're going to get caught."

"Then I'll get caught." Feliciano didn't really _want_ to go around Hogwarts with its spooky halls in the middle of the night, but he also couldn't justify spending another year away from home and work without any answers to show for it. "You're coming with me, right?"

"Absolutely not!"

They kept it a secret from Scorpius, which was really really hard since he was always with them and had a lot more to say now that he was both on the Quidditch team and doing a lot better. They won their second match against Hufflepuff in February, and that was the day Feliciano made his move.

It was easy when the common room was exploding with streamers and silvery confetti, upperclassmen belting out songs and England so distracted by the jumping and laughing that Feliciano slipped out the common room door and was on his way. It was still late afternoon and he carried his book bag with him hanging under one arm, the perfect excuse if he was caught wandering the halls alone instead of being in the common room celebrating. There was no rule against going through the school during the day either, but Feliciano did pick up his pace when he heard unfamiliar voices elsewhere in the stone corridors. A lone Slytherin, second year or not, could still become a target.

Under his influence, Gino had found a locked door and hidden beside it in the shadows while professors hurried by and spoke. He knew which floor it was on and had passed by it several times already just getting to classes, detouring with England glaring at him and muttering bitterly under his breath about just waiting for the end of the year to talk to the Headmistress. Feliciano wasn't having any of it.

He wanted to know if the trend he'd started noticing, the similarities pieced together after hours skimming through library books about the castle and its history... He wanted to know if all of that was real, or just an illusion he'd been conjuring for himself.

So before he found the door that looked like almost any other door in the school, big and heavy with split wooden panels buffed with faded polish and the creak of wrought iron hinges, Feliciano made sure to tap the stones on the nearest hall corner twice with his wand, setting a charm there and walking down the rest of the corridor, past his destination, and setting another one like it. A simple little enchantment that worked like a trip-wire. He'd be able to feel anyone coming and know to either hide or flee.

Then he turned his attention on the lock, muttering the simple words to open it first before gritting his teeth at the heat that ran down his wand's black body. Sliding one foot back to brace himself, he felt threads of magic shooting down through the ancient wood, pushing back like he was going to lock horns with it before his power pushed around and through, out-maneuvering the enchanted block and smashing through the lock with a dusty rattle.

The handle gave under his hand and with a single look back at the daylight through the windows, Feliciano shut the door behind him, sealing himself in darkness.

The room was dark and cluttered, an abandoned classroom with chairs up on desks and white sheets tossed over piles of abandoned furniture. The stale air smelled like dust and the door gave a heavy clunk as the lock settled back firmly into place. Scattered under the shuttered windows and propped up against the walls were what Feliciano had been searching for: paintings.

Dead paintings.

It was a little unreal. Wizard paintings took on a life of their own that complimented the desires of the artist. They weren't like photographs that took a snapshot of a moment and relived it endlessly in a cycle. A painting could collect memories like dust, wander the mysteries of their ornate backgrounds and visit the frames of friends and colleagues on other walls. Portraits of famous wizards often learned as much about themselves as they could, but with a distinct awareness of their own purpose and the fact that they were not the person themselves, merely a likeness, a flattery, a kind, happy memory.

A dead painting, in the wizarding world, was a tragedy.

A dead painting was more than water seeping down the canvas or age turning the frame to a brittle mess. It wasn't the nails coming out the back end of the portrait or careless dollops of paint across lace cuffs and rays of sunshine. A dead painting was something destroyed, not damaged, something torn apart and killed on purpose, murdered like anything else strangled to death.

Professors had whispered about knives, children had wondered about swords or scissors. The other paintings cowering in the halls lived in the anxiety that they were next. What Feliciano found as he pulled back sheet after sheet was different. He lifted and moved frames so he could set them on the floor with his wand aglow and ghost lamps cast to hover overhead so he could see...

He found nail marks.

He saw brutal tears.

No clean slashes, but rough, raspy pulls across the canvas that bled magic at his touch and caused the sheets to curl and regress when he stroked them, looking for the cause. These weren't haphazardous slashes with a knife or blade, not the way oils and pastels rolled up like beads down callous scratches before finally nails took and hands began to rip and shred.

It screamed strength and determination, a crime of unbearable passion when turning the dead frames over one by one showed more damage pushing through from the painted sides, the outlines of hands and nails clawing and scratching to get through the paint.

But it was while he was on the backsides of those portraits and paintings that his other reason for being here reared its head.

_Abello_.

The artist's name for this one, a vineyard now devoid of colour, its revelers mutilated and grey on the barren ground, the wine just a black stain over rotted food.

_Nicolosi._

A dove with a broken neck, its cavnas hard to uncurl where the rips had caused the old paint to curl and crumble back on itself. The castle in the background was in ruins, the poet laying under a dead tree with his quill fallen and broken beside the bird, face completely scratched off.

_Sapenti_ had captured a historic event, a visit from Merlin to Rome where great gifts of wand-lore had been traded to help King Arthur and find a consensus about what to do with the fabled sword.

Merlin had flung himself on the sword now, Rome was in ruins and Feliciano had to put that one back before he made himself sick. He couldn't handle the sight of his capital, even a centuries old rendition of it, defiled with skeletons hanging out windows and happy markets collapsed and abandoned.

He scratched the names into the little notebook kept safe in the breast pocket of his school uniform, meticulous as he recorded the size and age of each painting, prepared to go back to the library and cross-reference this information against what was in the school's books. He'd have more time there, it wasn't wise to do it now as he picked another dead painting up and set it back in the place where he'd found it.

The next one made him pause.

He almost thought he read the name wrong.

Kneeling down carefully, Feliciano tucked his notes aside so they could dry, the paper rasping over the dry back of the canvas. He gestured to pull one of the ghost lamps down next to his shoulder so he could see, and then dipped his quill down the deep neck of the bottle.

He traced the flourishing F tucked into the corner of this painting, and then let his hand follow-through and carve _Vargas_ on the back, cutting through the dust and age as the black ink soaked down and permeated the material.

There was a deep, rasping breath underneath him, a shiver of struggling breath before he almost knocked the ink well over and grabbed the frame hard enough to drive splinters into his fingers.

_'Papa... P-papa...!'_

"Shh, _shhh,_ Belladonna..."

He was disappointed in himself for not remembering, he was angry with himself for not knowing how this had even happened. Feliciano couldn't remember giving one of his own pictures to Hogwarts, it must have taken a journey through other hands to get here. When he turned it over, the grey sky bearing the memory of brush strokes for fluffy white clouds. The bottom half of the canvas was gone, the Gondolier dead and Venice's waters stolen away. There was only the rounded top of a column resting in the far left corner, ribbons snipped and fallen in the dead air where the second subject of the painting was clinging.

Quite literally clinging, because Feliciano could barely see the ashen marks and memory of yellow paint where a gold fan had once fluttered with teasing romance. Her balcony was broken, her dress scratched away, face hidden behind the posts of her balcony and a wash of green silk- now white, from her curtains draped like a burial shroud.

His quill cut through the damaged paint and marked the full volume and burst of the dress, several fast, hard strokes that brought whimpers of pain from the image detailing the weight of the curtain and the hidden form of her head. He gave her substance and where her fingers had been mutilated the quill bit harshly and separated fingers from knuckles, completing the flat arc of her palm before it lifted away and he drew the moving arm and the lace cinched at her elbow.

"_It hurts... it hurt so much...!"_

"Yes, I know it does, my love. Just a little longer..." He whispered in his own language, not standard Italian but the dialect of the region this painting had flattered. She understood him and she cried openly when he fixed the lines of the balcony and scraped his quill up around the door and window leading to her little flat. He sketched wine and a deep pillow over the remains of a chair, and when she stood, face and body still obscured by the curtain, he drew her other hand again and gave her skirt a laced hem with the shadow of her feet underneath.

"_Where is he?"_ Her voice was so soft that even when she cried Feliciano had to hunch down and place his ear over the window. "_Where is my love? What's become of him?_"

Her window and balcony only ever took up the top quarter of the painting, the rest of it was a shambled city and a great black void where the canvas was damaged.

"Tell me what happened."

_"Where is he?"_

Tell her the truth? There was power in being the creator of a work like this, but when Feliciano tried to cut his quill down across the interior of the room and paint a tall body with long limbs and a masculine frame, the ink beaded and refused to take. He couldn't draw something that didn't belong...

"Who did this to you?"

"_He's gone? He's gone! No! No he's gone!"_

"Wait- _answer me!_"

His pleas couldn't stop her. The curtain around her face bore a mouth left gaping in an agonized scream, the ink beginning to bleed out of the painted image as she twisted and spun with a wail on her balcony, the little woman devoid of colour and screaming like a tender animal having the life crushed from its body. The tension she put on the curtain made the rod snap and hit the floor with a clatter, and her wails ended when her redrawn dress crumbled and the ink wept its black, marring way across the image. She collapsed in a heap by the chair as it faded, her sobs beginning to quiet as her mangled hand held the white-washed fan in a limp grasp.

A few moments later she was entirely silent. An unfelt wind brushed the curtain from her face, and all that was left of the venetian maid was her fleshless skull screaming silently behind the curtain of academic ink. No more movement, the last of life surrendered for the sake of lost love.

He wiped away the blood with a handkerchief, reminding himself that it was only black ink, not red essence, and after he put the damaged canvas back against the wall, he dabbed away the fresh ink from his name.

Feliciano didn't go through the rest of the murdered artwork. He simply unlocked the door again and passed back out into the hall. His chest hurt.

He didn't care which way he went after that. He wanted sunlight and he wanted fresh air, but more than either of those he just wanted to be alone and to think. He had to process the pain of having one of his own creations, however old it had been, die right in front of him. He had to get through the insult and the deep-seated hurt of having Italian names in rapid succession come up in front of him as victims of vandalism, of brutality, of disrespect and anger- so much _anger_.

All of those names belonged to dead artists- some of their families still lived, but the artists themselves were beyond the veil now.

Beyond the veil, unlike the ghosts who were another mystery, less invasive and hurtful, but still lingering there on the very edge of everything else.

He was walking quickly, taking a flight of stairs up higher through the castle looking for a balcony or an open window, not even paying attention to where he was going as long as he kept moving. He could feel anger following him and he wanted to out-run it, anxiety reaching for his shoulders and forcing him around corners to get away from it. He didn't want a scene or to go back to the common room and sulk and cry until the emotions went away. What sort of message would that give to Scorpius who was supposed to be living the happiest day of his life after his Quidditch win? He couldn't take that from the boy, he'd gone exploring on his own and this was the price for it.

These _feelings_ were a better punishment than-

"_Accio!_"

Feliciano stumbled to a dead halt in the corridor, baffled by what he'd just felt when something ripped his notebook out of his hand. The charm barely registered, it was just the absence of something he'd been clutching the entire way from the second floor that brought him to a short stop. It unclogged his ears that he hadn't known were ringing, and Feliciano turned at the sound of voices.

"There, that got your attention then, Vargas." Why, _why_ was James Potter of all people standing there in the hallway, a troupe of Gryffindors behind him, and why was he holding Feliciano's notebook? "What's a snakeskin like you doing way up here near the towers?"

James Potter was a third year student, messy black hair like his brother Albus but with none of the quiet shyness the younger Potter had. He wasn't very humble, word of mouth said he didn't need to be. Star seeker, excellent grades, lots of friends, famous parents. He had every right to enjoy his school years with a pedigree like that, but Feliciano drew the line at someone going around antagonizing other students for sport.

He approached the group, all four Gryffindors with their red-lined robes and lion badges over the hearts. When Feliciano stopped, he held a hand out and made his request plainly.

"I'm taking a walk, can I have my book back, please?"

"Slytherins win one little match and think they have the run of the castle." Potter answered, looking surprised that Feliciano either wasn't cowering or crying or getting upset at him for taking it. Maybe if the ringing in his ears would go away, maybe if the feelings that he'd been running from weren't catching up with him as he stood there. "This isn't a school book you know, Vargas."

He was too angry for this.

Too insulted to put up with this.

He wanted his report back and then to be on his way, that was all Feliciano wanted.

He wanted to put thoughts and memories of dead children and murdered art to rest, he needed to just fall into a deep sleep and wrap himself in the illusion of childhood for a few days, surrender a letter to Lovino keeping him updated. He just couldn't deal with James Potter today.

"This is a _diary_, isn't it?" But James Potter insisted on flipping through the pages with one thumb holding the black cover, fanning them and stopping when he hit black script. Feliciano took a breath to ask him not to do that, to repeat his request that Potter just give the book back now and be done with it, but James just laughed and Feliciano's vision started getting very narrow and very black and fuzzy around the edges. "Look at this, these scribbles are nothing but nonsense! It really is a diary if he just keep writing in Italian everywhere."

"That's enough, Potter." He almost called him _boy_, he swallowed the word and kept his hand out. "Give it back."

"I'm not finished yet." And then Potter _dared _to-_ "Abello_, _Nicolosi_-"

He lost his temper.

He didn't use his wand- he didn't need magic. He felt his weight go to his right foot and kicked his left one up, jumping forward and slamming the hard heel of his shoe against Potter's shin. The boy yelled until a punch from Feliciano's right fist caught him in the mouth and he dropped to the floor in a stunned, writhing heap.

Maybe he hit a little too hard, but he took back the diary and-

"_Get him!_"

His wand came out and stunned a tall dark-skinned girl with long curly hair, feet already carrying him back as a girl who looked like Rose Weasley came at him with her wand glowing blue. He didn't know the spell, he just thrust his wand up into the blast before it hit him, catching the enchantment and swinging his arm back around over his head before lashing it at a short blonde boy with glasses who instantly froze in mid-step.

A yellow bolt was caught the same way by his wand and slammed to the floor where it let off a jet of sour gas, but it left his arm open to a jet of blue fire from someone he couldn't see.

They caught his robe instantly, heat cutting straight through the fabric to his skin.

The fire cut through his instincts, spells abandoned because if he fought when injured then he would keep fighting, it was already taking him by the throat and the flames sinking their teeth into his flesh woke him up just enough that Feliciano turned tail and ran.

He ran, wand in his other hand and book between his teeth, heat blazing up his arm from wrist to shoulder before licking at his back and forcing him to tear off the robe. His book bag got caught in the fabric and was dropped on the floor with the burning robe, his sleeve singed and smoking as he pumped his arms and went down the first flight of stairs at a dead sprint, almost crashing down the next flight.

The school moved by in a dusky blur, the sun setting somewhere outside the castle as he ran past the point of his lungs burning, feet slamming against cold stones because even if he couldn't hear anyone chasing him, he could feel the anger and the hurt and the insult and the _pain_ all racing to catch him this time, and he couldn't surrender to them again.

"Vargas?"

He ran so hard and so fast that when he heard someone say his name he stopped so fast his weight slipped out from under him and he slammed his tail-bone on the floor, skidding another foot before stopping in front of the infirmary's white doors.

Professor Malfoy'd called his name because Scorpius' father was standing there in the hall next to Professor Flitwick. Feliciano laid there panting on the floor just long enough to see the shock on both their faces and feel the way their eyes fell to his smoking, burnt arm before he regained the ability to move.

"_Vargas!"_

Move, meaning flip over on his hands, kick his toes against the floor, and shoot back the way he'd come to find anywhere better to hide.

Anywhere, at all, to hide.

* * *

**Jfc James didn't your mother ever tell you not to read creepy Slytherin diaries like **_**c'mon.**_


	22. Myrtle's Bathroom

**Gravedigger, Dumbledore's Farewell.**

**Sorry for being inconsistent with the updates! Third year is progressing slowly at the moment but I just HAD to update again today to show off the new story cover! The image was produced by Ayanhart on Tumblr! Thank you!**

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**_Snakeskins_**

Myrtle's Bathroom

The celebrations in Slytherin house were worth getting caught up in, that was why Arthur didn't notice who was missing until most of the chatter and dancing were plenty over with and the team-members had finally been allowed to go wash and change after a February shower had doused Hufflepuff's hopes for the house cup.

Arthur didn't particularly care about Italy's disappearance however, not until Professor Malfoy swept into the common room and caused an abrupt silence. He played it off with a smile, but the way he summoned Zabini down into the dormitory was something else. Arthur didn't follow, but he did watch a confused exchange from his seat and told Higgs to hurry up and make his move across the chess board.

Professor Malfoy left and Head Boy Zabini made his rounds to the prefects and a few of his friends in seventh year, Arthur content to ignore them until the Head Boy was standing right over his seat and the nation had to sigh and acknowledge him.

"Kirkland, where's Vargas gone off to?"

"Told me he wanted to get some studying done in the library." Arthur lied, knowing it was better to give some sort of excuse for Italy's disappearance. "Why?"

"Professor's concerned about him. He's not the type to get in trouble from what I've seen though."

"Trouble?" He repeated. "Goodness no, Feliciano'd rather whine and cry and hide behind the first years than jump into a fight."

"Just the same, when he gets back here you send him to me, understood?"

"Yes sir."

The Head Boy wandered off and Arthur didn't mind him after that, looking up a little when Scorpius hurried to find a seat on the couch next to him. Arthur didn't know why everyone seemed so focused on_ him_ when he was trying to build a subtle trap across the board that Higgs wouldn't notice until it was too late. Instead he had Scorpius vibrating next to him and pawing several times on his sleeve until Arthur relented and looked at him.

"What?"

"Vargas is hurt," Scorpius hissed, lips pulled thin around the words as he hunched his shoulders so the sound wouldn't pass beyond them.

Arthur didn't understand.

"What are you-?"

"I heard da- the_ Professor _talking to Zabini when I was coming up here. Someone burnt up his robe and Professor Longbottom's got Vargas' bag in his office!" _What._..? "He was up near Gryffindor tower and Professor Flitwick and my dad saw him running with burns down his arm. Someone set him on _fi_-"

"This is a school." He said the words as coldly as he could, which was enough to snuff out Scorpius' wheezing voice completely. But Arthur's statement was meant as much for the boy as it was for himself. "This a school, a respectable institution. Students don't just set other students _on fire_ at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy." Not for wandering the halls alone, not for wearing certain colours on their robes, not for _any reason_ would that sort of madness happen at Hogwarts.

That was the conviction Arthur Kirkland carried in his fist as he marched stoney-eyed out of the Slytherin common room with Scorpius and Higgs behind him, wand vibrating in his pocket with all the things he'd do if forced to use it.

And all the words he'd have to give the administration if things really did come down to blows.

* * *

Feliciano ran until his enchanted body couldn't handle it anymore, bursting through a door roped off but left unlocked and barely tasting the metallic tang of the air as he stumbled over broken tiles and saw a wall of cracked mirrors, rusted faucets, and deep sinks facing a wall of cubicles.

He went straight for the water, prepared to break the faucet head if he had to to get the cold water pouring down. His sleeve was blackened and browned, holes in the cloth showing where the fire had eaten straight through to his skin. He cared less about the visible damage than the screaming pain throbbing under the damaged cloth, sticking his whole arm under the stream and flexing his fingers frantically.

Cold water on a hot burn hurt. It hurt long before it felt good and his feet slipped back over the floor as he gasped and tried not to cry or scream at the shower of ice that shocked his blistered skin. He let all of his weight rest on the ceramic bowl and just closed his eyes, mouth wide open and sucking in air without releasing it. It hurt, it _hurt...!_

But he held his arm under the water, his other hand shaking when he splashed the spouting jet up over his elbow to attack and sooth the burns higher up his arm. Between his Slytherin tie, the bulk of his school sweater-vest, and then the button-down shirt underneath it all, he just stood there choking and couldn't find the will to undress and look at the wounds properly.

He stood for as long as he could because he knew the cold would do more good than harm. He doused his arm until his fingers were numb, elbow aching and muscles sore under their burns when he finally relented and shut the tap off.

His legs had gone numb from running, a side-effect he hadn't dealt with yet in this new body because his normal one could run and run for hours without exhausting itself. There was no strength in weak knees or trembling muscles to carry him anywhere else, Feliciano just buckled and let his knees hit the floor, gasping at the pain of impact and catching himself on his other hand.

He leaned his shoulder against the cold wall, twisting around until he was wedged between two sinks and the cold copper pipes beaded with condensation. It was frigid and damp, but he closed his eyes and wrapped his good arm around the one still inflamed and beginning to throb again without the cold wash to keep it contained.

Ah- those were tears in his eyes, weren't they? He was exhausted, physically and emotionally and it was rare to deal with both at once. A smile crawled up his face as the first unwilling tear leaked from his eye, the rest were easier to bear though. He was alone and the worst was over now, he'd been through his ordeal and now he'd earned his rest. Crying would just help the emotions pass sooner, bring the healing sleep that would deal with the weakness in his legs and the surging pain in his arm.

He'd run so hard to get away from the professors because he hadn't trusted himself to speak or to explain. He couldn't rationalize how the fight had started and he couldn't explain his presence up where so many Gryffindors had been unexpectedly clustered. He must have been close to their common room; they were supposed to be up in one of the towers, weren't they?

Meaning Feliciano'd wandered a long hard way from the dungeons and the second floor classroom where he'd done his snooping. He was going to get in trouble if he didn't hurry back towards the dorms soon before lights out, but a quick look down at his hands told him he'd just have to suffer with the cold tonight.

Magic flames didn't care about normal physics: they just devoured whatever they were cast on. Feliciano looked down at skinned knuckles weeping blood where blisters had popped, the back of his hand bright red and hardly spared by the presence of his shirt cuff and abandoned robe. The thick top layer, at least, had spared him most of the pain.

The holes in his shirt came from the hottest part of the fire: the place where the spell had collided with his arm. It hurt a lot more to have the far side of his forearm seared, but that was how he'd raised his arm to block the spell from hitting his body. If those flames had struck him in the chest or face instead...

He couldn't recall clearly enough if the spell could have been lethal if it had hit him properly. If not death, then disfigurement for sure unless Professor Malfoy was skilled and fast enough to reverse the damage... Too risky.

Children attacking children with fire, it brought more tears down his face and when his chest contracted harshly with a sob it jostled his arm and made his weak legs pull up under him trying to make himself smaller. Heal already...

It wasn't that simple though, healing. He was a continent from home and stranded without a patriot or kindred soul for hundreds of miles. England was his friend but it was different, they were similar but they weren't the _same_. Any Nation had more in common with one of their own than someone else _like_ them. If England or Scotland suffered something like this then they'd heal in a matter of hours, but in his case...

Maybe he shouldn't have run away. But how was he supposed to explain? The magic would cause a reaction, a glow, a shimmer, a kind of heat because it was right on the surface and not lower down. You couldn't die from a burn unless it went far or led to infection- something Nations couldn't get. If he'd been speared through the gut then that would have work beginning at once. That time he'd crashed his broom in first year had been an internal injury, organs bruised and weeping blood and fluids into places they didn't belong. This was different: the blood-loss was minimal, the damage was superficial, but the _pain..._

"_He looks wretched, you'd ought to just come out now_."

Feliciano's eyes snapped open but he didn't see the speaker, just heard a shuffle and metal creak somewhere that got him shoving his shoulders against the wall. If he was meant to hide or to push himself up between the sinks again and flee was too hard to figure out. His hips left the floor only to slide back down, wincing harshly as he shuddered from the pain and swallowed a hard groan that leaked out of him as a whimper instead.

"Vargas?"

"_Gamp?_"

He saw her shoes first, round-toed loafers kicking at the green hem of her robe. He finally realized that he was in a _girl's_ bathroom and felt an embarrassed heat stain his cheeks. But Eliza Gamp's voice was weak and fluttering: a strong sign that she'd been crying. When she came around the sinks and saw him, Feliciano's stomach bottomed out because of the horrified gasp and the way she flung her hands up over her mouth.

"What happened!?" Her black braid had come loose over the top of her head, wisps of hair flying away and her face puffy and still red from too much crying, eyes bloodshot while she focused on him instead. "Your arm! Let me see it-"

She washed words over him as she knelt down and coaxed him to let her look at his arm. It wouldn't do much good for a child to try and help him, but she made the effort and he knew he looked pathetic with the tears on his face and burns still volatile across his skin. She undid the button around the sleeve cuff and was surprisingly gentle as she pulled and rolled the wet fabric up to his elbow, watching the way he winced and apologizing for being too rough.

"We have to take you to Professor Malfoy right away."

"No- if we do that then I'll have to explain."

"Well you _should_ explain!" She had such a terse way of speaking when she wasn't the one in trouble, sitting back on her heels with shoulders set and chin climbing so she was practically scolding him. "What happened? I heard you come crashing in here and now you're sitting on the floor, hurt and missing your robe. February's too cold for you to go forgetting it in the dormitory yet."

It _was_ too cold, and just listening to Eliza point it out made the damp environment of the bathroom stand out. He hadn't taken a proper look around but the windows were grimey over their heads, musty old cob-webs that looked abandoned by their spiders stretched across the buttresses that made the ceiling. The floor was wet where he was sitting, the wall behind him beaded with condensation that cut through his shirt and made the vest feel like too little too late to keep him warm.

Burnt and freezing, it was a maddening combination.

"Vargas?" He hadn't said anything, that was why- "Feliciano it- it's okay..." his silence worried her. He wasn't crying any more than before, his tears had actually slowed down and he was just sitting there in the cold with his burnt arm exposed and throbbing, the wounds just barely starting to tingle with the early stages of healing. It would take hours, most likely days, before the pain completely went away...

But he saw the ink stains on his fingers and he remembered why he'd been wandering so urgently through the castle, he remembered the book that was in his lap and why he'd fought so viciously to get it back. He remembered being wept to by a spirit that perished before his eyes, and the cold, heavy weight of the cross under his clothes that kept him locked in a body that could barely stand or run to escape all the pain and sorrow that this mission kept bringing him.

And then that thought just brought more futility along with it, because Feliciano was on a mission. He was here by choice. He had a world beyond Hogwarts to run and escape to, he had his identity and his purpose and a history of accomplishments and lessons to rely on. He was three thousand years old and hiding behind a mask of twelve years, but what about the ones who didn't?

"Why were you crying, Ellie?" He asked, looking up and startling her with the way he dismissed her question. He knew she'd been crying, they all knew she cried all the time about almost anything. But why here? "You don't come here a lot, do you?"

"Oh, I-" her round face flushed an angry red colour, her skin splotched from her old tears and her hair still out of sorts. When Gamp looked down at her hands, Feliciano noticed her rolling her wand between her fingers, the dogwood rod slightly crooked and molded to fit her tiny palm. "I just... it's quiet here is all. No one ever comes to Myrtle's bathroom."

"I got in a fight with Potter, why are you here?" He finally told her part of why he'd wound up on the floor like this, but Eliza just squirmed unhappily in her own way, still crouched on the damp floor next to him as she wrapped her arms around herself to keep away the cold.

"The same old thing really." She whispered, eyes cast down and looking at the rows of faucets and old rust. "Half-blood Gamp. My father defiled the Gamp name by marrying my mother you know, on of my great-grandparents was a muggle, I think." With her arms wrapped around her knees now, Eliza tipped forward so her face was looking down at the floor, some of her loose hair hanging around her head. "I named the wrong spell to fix a rip in Maragaret's robe this afternoon after the match. I didn't use it, just suggested it, but the way they started _laughing_ at me..."

"We're in the same house, they shouldn't do that to you."

"You're either supposed to be a pure blood or an outstanding wizard, there's no room to be not good at anything in Slytherin." English Wizards took blood-lines so _seriously_ still... Ellie was crying again when she looked up at him, big grey eyes full of tears as she sniffled around the back of her throat and asked a question. "Is it the same in Italy? I'll bet its worse, you had to come all the way to Hogwarts for a reason, didn't you?" It really hurt to hear her say things like that...

"In Italy, _where_ you're born is more important than anything." Region to region, north versus south, it was looser now than it had been in generations before: intermarriage was slightly more bearable, but just going from Venezia to Lobardi could still cause a scandal... "Muggle-borns are rounded up at once by older families and our schools are very small, more like clubs I guess." Secret societies in each major city reflecting borders Feliciano himself had dissolved centuries ago. Muggle-born wizards were a treasure because they were new blood, often talented, and almost always willing to blindly give their loyalty to whichever house found and reared them. They were nicer about it now than in centuries past too: now they actually let the children stay with their mothers and fathers, not steal them away in the middle of the night, never to be heard or seen from again...

"But you're still a pureblood, right?" She looked at him with a sad, hopeless look of envy. She must have seen in him and the others everything that would make her life so much easier.

"My blood is..." Oh, how to explain... he wanted to do more than just deflect the question, and when he looked down at his burnt hand he saw the way the skin closest to his knuckles was already scabbing over and beginning to cool down. "It would cause our family a lot of problems if I went to any one school in Italy, Hogwarts is... better." Even his own words made it sound like Lovino was using him, sending him here for political reasons when in fact he was the one who was so determined to go through with this. How was it supposed to look if his family was keeping him in a place where students who walked alone were set against groups of upperclassmen for no reason?

He knew how to defend himself, but what if it had been Scorpius walking alone or, god forbid, Gamp either before or after leaving this cold little prison behind?

His thoughts were flung back to a discussion a year gone and branded into the pages of the diary James Potter had tried to take from him. He remembered the story of a girl who wasn't afraid to force her way into the boy's dormitory and hex them until their robes were pink and purple, putting them each firmly in their scolded place only to give in later to frustrated tears because living in this castle was not easy, and trying to get by in the green robes of what everyone called an evil house just made it even harder.

He remembered the gouges that had carved up her face and lay like open mouths screaming agony in death, and then Feliciano looked up at Eliza Gamp with a kind of fear he hadn't considered before.

He'd have to tell England.

Even if it was completely stupid, or it doubted her at all, they couldn't let it happen again.

Not like that.

Never again like that.

"That's why you don't want to talk to Professor Malfoy, isn't it?" Feliciano spent so long dwelling on that fear that he almost didn't hear Ellie talking to him again over the sound of dripping water. "Because if he writes home to your brother it will cause trouble for him and his job. You do seem to think his job is important, don't you?"

"Oh, Ellie I couldn't begin to tell you how much work he does." She was wrong, but- her understanding made a good cover story, he took it and adopted it easily. "To start a fight between the clans, even a little one like where I should go to learn magic, it would put him under so much stress I wouldn't be able to forgive myself."

"I understand..." Ellie started dabbing at her face with her sleeve, wiping away the tears that had slowed down again and left her eyes bloodshot all over again. "How are you going to get back to the commons looking like that though? Your robe's gone and your shirt's all wet, maybe you can transfigure it back to normal without all the burns?"

"I can try," He didn't feel like moving yet but agreed with what she said, pulling his right arm around to...

_No..._

He just slumped back against the wall again, feeling defeated and letting Ellie watch him closely for a few seconds before she understood too.

"You keep your wand case hooked inside your robe, don't you?" He did. He got to be wandless all over again until one of the Gryffindors found and either gave it back or taunted him to the point where a professor noticed. "Oh, _Vargas..._"

"Why don't you try instead? I think I know which spell to use." Her eyes went wide and her shoulders tensed up as soon as he said it, Ellie's whole body tipping over until she caught herself with one hand.

"Oh no- that's a terrible idea! I'm awful at transfiguration!"

"So is Higgs but since he started sitting next to me he's done better. Just try."

"Your arm's already burnt! What if I hit your skin instead of the shirt and it- it does something _wretched?_"

"The worst that can happen is-" Feliciano stopped when he saw her wand swish up and point directly at his mouth.

"Don't finish that sentence." She scolded. "According to Charles the last time you said those words they came true: Scorpius fell off his broom and some of the Gryffindors _still_ laugh at him for it."

They sat there and they bickered about it for another five or ten minutes, Ellie only finally giving in when Feliciano closed his hand over hers and they both repeated the spell together with the wand absolutely still. He rolled his sleeve carefully back down over the burns, took her hand again, and on the count of three they-

_POP!_

His sleeve _vanished_ instead of fixing itself and Ellie dropped her wand with a clatter, both hands up over her mouth as she shrieked.

"_I'm sorry!_"

"At least it didn't hurt."

"_I'm sorry! I'm so sorry I __**told**__ you I'm no good with it!" _She didn't calm down after one cry and Feliciano jumped when he saw her eyes misting up with tears again, shocked enough to reach out with both hands only to have her jump straight to her feet in front of him, hands balled up at her sides and whole body shaking, face scrunched up with furious tears and chest rattling with broken sobs.

"Ellie-!"

"I told you! I told you and you made me try it anyways!" What started as a shriek built up quickly into a scream: "You made me do it! You're so stupid for going off on your own and getting into fights, and then you come in here and show me just how awful I am at being a Slytherin and a witch! It's your fault- _I hate you!_"

"_Eliza!_"

She flung her arms up over her face and ran from him, sprinting across the ruined bathroom to the wall where she pushed herself off and out the door. Feliciano barely made it to one knee with the fingers of his bare arm touching the cold floor, and he was left there with a numb feeling replacing all the other little aches and pains in his body.

"_Now you've done it_." He didn't even get a chance to take it all in before he heard the voice behind him, raspy and not-quite there, feminine and feral when he looked over his shoulder and saw nothing. "_Now you've __**done it**__."_

He grabbed Gamp's wand off the floor, the dogwood contorting in his hand because it didn't recognize or want him holding it. Standing up on shaking legs, his wand arm was the one that had been burnt and it hurt too much to raise and use. His left hand fumbled around the distrustful wand, and when he felt something rumbling through the cracked tiles under his feet he shifted his balance and tried backing up towards the door.

"Who's there!?" Somewhere in their conversation Gamp had said a name, she'd said this bathroom belonged to someone. His eyes kept searching but he didn't see anyone, the sound of water bubbling and roaring up somewhere making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

"_You __**chased**__ her off- you made her __**go away**__! Did I say you could? __**No I didn't!**__"_Where the hell was it coming from!? The fear was running cold down his back and Feliciano's hand was shaking trying to hold the wand at all, nevermind keep it up so he could use it. The voice hit the mirrors and bounced off the wall, bits of grit falling from the ceiling as the loud splash of water started backing up from the toilets hidden behind metal doors.

"_**Look at him!**__ Such a pureblood! __**Look at this!**__ So talented! Vargas is such a __**cute**__ boy, such a __**sweet**__ boy! Vargas would never make a __**fool**__ out of anyone! He'd never pull a __**dirty rotten trick**__ in his __**entire**__ life!"_

The toilets were gushing water and the faucets one by one cranked themselves wide open, the voice howling through the air before cold wind came from somewhere and the cracked windows overhead started hissing with escaping air.

"_How dare you! Go away! __**How dare you!**__ Leave this place! __**HOW DARE YOU!**_"

Something blue and not quite there was misting off the mirrors and Feliciano felt every icy word jump through his flesh, terror grabbing him by the gut and getting his voice up, the water sloshing at his shoes when he looked down at the lapping pools.

He looked up and felt more than he saw: felt the cold and the wind and a piercing scream that roared through him with hands curled like claws and mouth gaping wide. And it wasn't the sight, it was the scream:

"_**HOW DARE YOU!**_"

Feliciano didn't hear himself scream, he just felt it when his throat opened up and his lungs emptied. He slipped and fell in the ice cold water and slammed his burnt arm on the floor, clawing with Ellie's wand still clutched in his hand before he found his feet and ran screaming for the door. He heard water jetting into the air and raining back down but hit the wall with both hands and then slammed them on the old bathroom door, nearly catching himself on the ropes strung up to tell students it was out of order.

He took two steps straight out into the warmer, deceptively calmer air of the hallway and slammed straight into England.

"_Oh my god-!_" He didn't even know it was England, not right away, he just knew he hit a body that was small like his, warm and dry and stronger than his that he flung both arms around hard, eyes level with a green and silver tie before he shut them and pushed his face down between England's shoulder and throat as soon as he felt a shocked, stumbling hug close around him in return.

His knees collapsed a moment later, and he knew for sure it was England because he followed Feliciano down and knew how to take his weight. Hands touched his back and his hair briefly, and then he heard a familiar voice wrapped up in the wrongness of a charm that turned his voice back a thousand years.

"You're soaking wet! Where the hell have you been?" He didn't answer, he didn't care, he just hung on as hard as he could and felt tears leaking out of him because it was all too much for him right now. Deaths and attacks and regrets and hauntings- he couldn't do it, he couldn't _do_ this much...

"We saw Gamp go screaming by and Scorpius went after her." Feliciano didn't say a single thing, he just let Arth- let England talk to him and take his black school robe off, swinging it around Feliciano's shoulders to cover how filthy he was, working his wounded bare arm through one sleeve. He kept his eyes shut throughout, face down and close against him, but England didn't let him get away with it for long. Even with arms still around him and holding him just as close, England refused to get caught up in the storm dragging Feliciano down.

"Hurry up, there's a passage just around the corner to get back into the dungeons." He couldn't move and he could barely _stand..._ "Get up, Feliciano, before someone finds us-!"

He wept instead.

It was all he felt good for.

He just _wept_.


	23. Cooling Down

**Invictus.**

**Haha! A faster update this time, so please leave a comment below!**

**I'm currently working through chapter 33 at the moment, Year 2 ends at 27.**

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**_Snakeskins_**

Cooling Down

It didn't matter how Italy wound up in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, what mattered was getting him back down to the common room and safety.

Safety he clearly needed, because they weren't half-way through the secret passage from the first floor down to the dungeons when Italy promptly stopped walking and just sat down on the dark, dusty steps.

"What are you doing?"

"I need a minute..."

"We haven't got a minute! You completely missed dinner and if either of us want to have a decent conversation we'd better get to the dormitory right away!"

_"England._" Oh, he didn't much like that tone of voice Italy took with him, not because it was rude or impetuous, but because it sounded so _defeated_... "Just a minute..."

"What the devil did you see in that room?"

"Lots of things." Italy just sat there, hands clenched in his red hair, shoulders stooped in Arthur's borrowed robe. He hadn't asked where Italy's was: he knew that answer from Scorpius. "It's not just that. It's a lot of things, too many things."

"What happened to your arm?"

"Potter happened to my arm."

Arthur stepped forward and knelt right in front of him, a step below so Italy had to look up and face him.

"As your partner, I'm asking you to tell me what happened." Arthur didn't want to read it in some report years from now, he didn't want to have McGonagall asking him things he knew nothing about, he didn't know how he'd handle letters too or from their brothers in their respective capitals if Arthur was here beside Italy for all of this but _missed_ everything that was important. "I should have gone with you today, I'm sorry I didn't, but you have to tell me."

And Italy did tell him in slow, unwilling pieces. He put the words together and dropped them into Arthur's hand like bronze coins, their value only totalling as more were added to the pile.

"Every painting I touched in that room was Italian in origin."

"From your part of the country? Could you tell?"

"No, I wrote down the names and I'll be sending them to Lovino in the morning. He has access to the records, even the city ones in my territories."

"But they were all Italian."

"One of them was _Italy's_."

There was a long, sollemn pause after Italy's comment and Arthur just let the silence rest, he needed to process it on his own.

"Yours?"

"If you don't believe me, we can go to the library and find the _Venetian Gondalier_ in the records. My name must be there somewhere." This was not what Arthur wanted to hear, and it left him without anything to say as he stood up straight and rubbed a hand back and forth over his mouth, trying to sort through the shocked feelings making his skin tingle and snag him under the collar. This was all terrible news on top of worse rumours.

"Tell me Professor Longbottom didn't really find your half-burnt robe and book bag outside Gryffindor tower."

"Is that why there were so many Gryffindors around?" Italy fired back, wincing as he pulled his arm free of Arthur's borrowed robe so the dim light of the corridor shone down over the blistered skin and dried blood. His burns were serious, second degree by the looks of it, but at least with his healing he'd be alright in no more than three or four days. Tonight would be the hardest.

But if he'd been human, his injuries would have been outstanding.

"Before you ask, I didn't see who let it off."

"The castle's been in an uproar all evening looking for you. Malfoy and Longbottom may just come to blows if this isn't sorted out quickly."

"Malfoy could take him."

"_That's not the point._" And it wasn't so simply cut and dry- even if the idea of professors dueling each other was simply outlandish in and of itself! "The point is that you need to decide whether we're going straight to the infirmary or the Headmistress's office."

"I'll talk to Malfoy tomorrow." Tomorrow, so his wounds would have a chance to heal first... Arthur hated the idea of waiting but it was sensible. "How long until lights out?"

Arthur flipped his wrist over, a habitual shake of the arm meant to knock back the sleeve of the robe he wasn't wearing.

"Another thirty minutes I'd say." Italy didn't move, just wrapped a hand around his hurt arm below the shoulder, hissing in a breath and refusing to touch the inflamed skin for fear of pain. He'd be better once he could douse it in cold water again back in the dormitory, but in the meantime Arthur knelt down in front of him again. "I take it you'd rather hold up here and wait?"

"Pretty much..."

"Here, let me see that."

Italy's wand had been left behind with his robe, and idiotic thing that was only compounded by Gamp making the same mistake. At least Italy had gathered her wand up before fleeing the bathroom, quite surprising given how he'd been ejected from it. It prompted the other nation to speak too.

"Tell me about the ghost in the girl's washroom."

"Moaning Myrtle you mean?" Holding Italy by the unblemished ends of his fingers, Arthur gave a measuring wave of his wand before gently tapping the end against Italy's knuckles. "One of Tom Riddle's very first victims I'm afraid. It must have been nearly eighty years ago now when she died."

There was little more to say beyond that, a few rumours, things picked up during their time here and garnered from chit chat he remembered from during the Wizarding Wars. While Arthur spoke, his wand tip ejected a stream of white gauze bandages, the fabric binding itself around Italy's forearm, special care taken at the elbow so he could still bend the joint as they covered the raw skin creeping up his arm to his shoulder, stopping when they ran out of injured flesh to deal with. He gave a tentative flex before murmuring his thanks. Bandages wouldn't help with the pain, but they'd keep the robe from brushing against it while he hid the fact that his sleeve was missing.

"Hey, England." After that there was nothing else to do but make Italy shuffle over so Arthur could sit on the stone step next to him and on his good side. "Are we friends now?"

"Hm? That's an odd question to ask, don't you think?"

"Maybe, but I just want to make sure. We've been doing this for two years and I want to come back for a third." Frankly, this time Arthur wanted to make sure they came back too. First year hadn't held much in terms of strange behaviour or suspicious occurrences, but this year was shaping up to be quite different. The paintings more than the ghosts worried him now. "So I just want to make sure I'm not wrong about this. You and me, we're friends, right?"

"Yes." He answered, looking down the dark passage in front of them and not sure if he was embarrassed or about to smile when he gave his response. Nations had pointed out just over Christmas that England and North Italy were surprisingly close now after a year and a half of charades and magic. It was to be expected though, wasn't it? Arthur couldn't say he minded it that much either.

"Good!" Even if it did mean getting a one-armed hug and a chirpy reply from Italy, who hugged him tight around the neck and made sitting on the steps together unbearable. "Because friends keep secrets for friends, right? That means I can tell you something important, right?"

"You're acting weird now stop it." Arthur groaned, fighting his way free of the embrace and threatening Italy's burned arm with a swat of his wand if he didn't let go. It worked. "What's this about secrets?"

"You know about the duelling club here at the school, right?" That wasn't much of a _secret_ given how Professor Malfoy had announced it to them right before Christmas break. Italy and Arthur had both scoffed at the idea at the time because between the Quidditch nonsense and getting ready for their meetings and conferences back home, there'd been no time for pretending they didn't know how to perform a simple disarm or blast-back curse.

"You know how Professor Creevey heads the duelling club?" Arthur really didn't see where any of this was going. "And he put a sign up form for an end-of-the-year tournament?"

Now he saw.

Now he didn't like.

"Absolutely not." He shot the idea down instantly and was terrified when Italy's forced grin didn't waver.

"I'm not saying you have to, but it's divided by year so second years can join." But not first years, because they simply didn't have enough spells at their disposal. "I'm going to ask him about it tomorrow after I get my wand back."

"_Why?_"

His question changed Italy's smile from fake over to simply not there anymore, because yes his lips were curved and his cheeks were dimpled, but only an idiot would have called that expression a smile.

"Because James Potter seems to have it in his head that Vargas wizards can't hold their own in a fight, so I'm going to prove him wrong."

"But James is in third year! The only Potter you could end up duelling is Albus!"

"I don't want to hurt Albus, I think he's a very nice boy actually." But that's exactly what he was _suggesting-_ "After today, Arthur, I just want to make sure everyone in the lower years gets a very clear warning. The next time four Gryffindors all start firing spells at me at once..." Italy leaned forward, that dangerous look still on his face and showing how far today had pushed him to make him this angry. He patted his bandaged arm and finished his words off with a chuckle: "It won't be _me_ who ends up hiding all day waiting for the sun to go down."

When they finally did make it back to the Slytherin dormitory, it was half past eleven and Arthur was wise enough to stop Italy from hurrying back inside.

Instead, Arthur himself scampered off down a corridor and found a particularly clanky-looking suit of armor, swishing his wand to drag the pieces up into the air and setting a timer charm on them. He sprinted back to the alcove where Italy was hiding and they both hunkered down to hold their breath.

The different pieces of armor started rocketing around and bashing against the walls, kicking up a horrendous amount of noise that opened the Slytherin common room right up and let Professor Malfoy out in a swooping blur of white anger, wand out and voice raised as he moved like a fiend in the opposite direction of their hiding spot. They sprinted through the open common room door he left behind, and bolted down to the second year dorms.

For some bizarre reason, Scorpius' bed was also empty when they got there and Higgs was dead asleep until he heard their footsteps. But they were both too tired to care about Scorpius when his father was obviously awake and waiting for his missing students to return to the house, and even Higgs assumed they'd already been scolded and would tell him about it in the morning before promptly rolling over back to sleep.

They found Scorpius the next morning when the Giant Squid came by their window and roared loudly under the water to wake the dormitory up as usual, laying face-down on his bed and still fully dressed, looking absolutely disgusted with the idea of going to lessons.

"No... I swear, I only just got to bed...!" He wailed, dark circles under his eyes as Arthur pointed out how at least he didn't have to fuss about getting dressed.

"Where'd you vanish off to yesterday?" Higgs was the one to question him, Italy and Arthur had a hell of a time trying to position themselves inconspicuously so Italy could test his wounded arm to see how much it had healed during the night. "These two came back, but I didn't hear you at all."

"Gamp and I-" he cut himself off with a jaw-breaking yawn. "The _owlery_. We were there all bloody night..."

"What?"

"Why the owlery?"

"That's where she goes to when she's not crying her eyes out in Moaning Myrtle's toilet." Scorpius might have been in better spirits if he'd had a chance for proper sleep, but between a Quidditch match the day before and staying out all night in the cold, he was barely able to put his bag on the right way and got turned around twice just trying to find his way up to the great hall. "She's got all them school owls completely trained to eat out of her hand you know? It's actually really cool how she just whistles and one of them comes down to perch next to her."

"She trains owls?" Italy asked.

"Hers does little tricks if you offer it half a mouse." He groaned, "It'll croon a few bars of a song and bob its head three times for a whole one."

Gamp was already in the great hall when the four of them arrived, and Arthur found it curious how her eyes seemed to bug right out of her head when she saw Italy, but then flickered to Scorpius like she didn't know if she should stay or flee.

It didn't really matter either way however, because just as they were approaching their seats Arthur felt a choking tightness close around his throat and a force grabbed the back of his robes and _dragged _ him back. His shoes skidded back and his centre of balance was ripped away like a kitten caught by the scruff. The only thing that made it bearable was the gag next to him as Italy flailed just as violently and they were both ripped back across the whole length of the great hall where the spell dropped them both flat on their backs.

And, of course, the first thing they saw was Professor Malfoy, resplendent and pristine in his white robes despite probably not getting more than an hour or two of sleep, glaring down at them from above.

"Kirkland. Vargas."

"Professor Malfoy."

"Good morning, Professor."

"Stand up and come with me."

"Of course, Professor."

"Yes, Professor."

So much for breakfast, because they were set marching behind Professor Malfoy like the guilty children they were and Arthur couldn't help but fling an accusing look at Italy for dragging him into this. Friend or no, he certainly hadn't signed up for a scolding.

They climbed three flights of stairs to bring them up to the fourth floor, meaning they were going into the infirmary and had to suffer with the sound of the white doors automatically swinging open and then gliding shut behind them. They walked down the entire length of the hospital wing, approached a tall, narrow door in the back end next to a large bookshelf that seemed stuffed with hospital records, and passed through into a wide open office. Professor Malfoy's office.

Oh yes, they were in deep trouble now.

Professor Malfoy's office had four tall windows that reached up the circular walls, implying that this was the rounded half-tower protruding from the fourth floor and visible from the flying fields. Instead of facing the door, his desk was long and semi-circular, looking at the walls and windows with a simple high-backed chair facing the door so he could enter and exit the space at once.

The walls between the windows were covered in shelves bearing vials and bottles, flasks and flagons, boxes and jars and all sorts of other containers. There was a sickly sweet smell that came from looking up at the garden of herbs, dry and fresh, either growing from hanging pots or suspended from strings hanging from the rafters of the conical tower. The wide wall behind them was bricked with books, wizarding medical texts and catalogues of potions and plant life organized by colour and size instead of names or numbers. Wizards really weren't the sort for muggle organization, the Professor's mind probably performed better with the tacitile nature of _"the green book of potions"_ than "_One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore"_. The great green rug spread across the floor, Arthur noticed now, was blazed with the silver crest of Slytherin. He wasn't house head for nothing.

"Before I take an additional twenty points from Slytherin this morning," The Professor brought them into his office and his hand immediately came up, fingers snapping when the two boys halted and watched an ounce of wandless magic make a brass tray leap up from its neat spot on one of the shelves and zip over to him. It stopped at once and with his wand the professor flicked and swished several times to bring a handful of herbs and one of those mysterious bottles hovering down to land on another tray that rose to catch them. "Vargas, show me your arm."

Italy was utterly obedient to the demand. He didn't have a bag or a wand to mind as he pulled his robe off this morning, and through the nipping anxiety Arthur noticed him staring intently at something on the desk. Yes, that definitely looked like a wand case and a Slytherin robe.

He undid the button on his cuff and rolled up his sleeve, the bandages from last night still wrapped around his arm but not as tightly anymore. Professor Malfoy had flicked his wand in the direction of a previously unseen cauldron- they'd missed it because a bookshelf had to shift out of the way of the fireplace entrance and a crackle of sparks got the fire going, mixed and measured ingredients quickly passing from the professor's hands through the air to tip into the vat as it began to heat up.

"And who did this?" Professor Malfoy was referring to the gauze, and Arthur clasped his hands behind him at parade stance, feet apart and shoulders dropped back before answering.

"I did, sir."

"Mister Kirkland, were you not told to bring Mister Vargas directly to me if you found him yesterday?"

"Yes, Professor."

"Then that will be five points from Slytherin for your disobedience." Arthur closed his eyes at the sting, but at least his was only mental when he heard Italy suck in a breath beside him.

Italy's burns looked _much_ better today than they had last night. There was a suspicious layer of dead skin across the back of his hand and fingers where he'd healed the fastest, and probably the same along his upper arm, but enough damage remained to show how hot the flames had been yesterday. His forearm was completely red, one or two of the blisters still furious and tight beneath his elbow as the Professor tsked sharply.

"And I have to wonder, Mister Vargas, what you thought the pain was worth when you could have simply returned to the dorms or arrived here in the infirmary for immediate care."

"It... is difficult to explain, sir."

"And the pain is punishment enough for it. However you both managed to sneak back into Slytherin House last night, I'm still removing ten points from each of you for the stunt." So a total of twenty-five points gone just from the two of them, nevermind whatever Gamp and Scorpius had also lost. Not a good day for Slytherin. "I'll also inform you that Miss Jordan and the other Mister Weasley are both doing just fine after the hexing you gave them yesterday. Your detention for fighting in the halls will be served up here this evening with me. Kirkland, you may return to the great hall for breakfast."

"Can he stay?" Italy piped up with a sudden tremble in his voice when Arthur broke parade stance and Professor Malfoy's spell dropped something into the boiling cauldron that made it give a loud gush of grey steam and belch out green sparks.

Professor Malfoy, now that he was finished scolding, was already loosening up as he checked the brew and answered the question in an off-hand manner.

"If he would like, but he's free to go."

Italy looked at Arthur, and despite how much trouble he'd gotten himself into yesterday just by being alone, Arthur wrinkled his nose and shook his head.

"Nah, I'm hungry."

"What-?"

"See you in Herbology, one hour remember?"

"Wait- _Kirkland!_"

It served Italy right having to deal with the suspiciously blue substance Professor Malfoy was ladling out of the cauldron as Arthur left. After all, if he didn't go back and return Gamp's wand, who would? People in their year really needed to learn not to misplace them so much.

And to stop getting into so much trouble, but Arthur really wasn't in a position to complain so much about that now, was he?

Not if he was on his way to go ask Professor Creevey about signing up for the Duelling Tournament, he wasn't.

* * *

**Duelling duelling duelling~ Leave a comment below? I'll be back tomorrow with 24!**


	24. An Introduction to Duelling

**Trailerhead Album**

* * *

**_Snakeskins_**

An Introduction to Duelling

What had happened in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom was dealt with by Ellie in a quiet voice after the end of Herbology that morning in February.

"I'm sorry." She whimpered. "I'm really, _really_ sorry for yelling like that, I-"

Feliciano's best idea was to just toss his arms around her in a hug, laughing about how she was being silly and he wasn't mad at her at all! He'd been worried!

"And I don't think the ghost likes me."

"Myrtle? I don't know what you mean, she's usually so nice." She invited him to go back and Feliciano had to refuse, regretting his choice of words when it sounded like a rejection of being around _her_ instead of him just not wanting to be around _ghosts_. Even England dimmed when reminded of the young girl whose spirit haunted the school's plumbing.

"What about your owls?" He suggested instead, and watched Ellie's grey eyes go wide and then dart around trying to look anywhere but at him. Her shoes fidgeted on the damp grass outside the green-houses, the two of them hanging back while the other Slytherins move on to their next class.

"Scorpius... told you about that..."

"He did! He said it's amazing and you can get the owls to dance and hoot for you!"

"N-No, I just know their names."

"Then let's all go to the owlery together tonight after dinner!"

He knew he pushed it, he knew he laughed and pretended not to hear her, but in the end she still agreed and Feliciano was able to drag her happily along to their next class.

As soon as they entered the charms classroom, Feliciano walked with her over to the desk where England was already waiting, and then abruptly changed sides and plopped down at the empty desk where Ellie was usually left to be paired with a random Hufflepuff classmate.

England didn't say anything about it while Feliciano pulled out his book, some fresh parchment and a quill along with his restored wand. He did eventually pipe up though and tell Ellie to just come and sit down already so they could get started before the Professor arrived.

It was his first time sitting through a lesson without either England or Scorpius beside him, and it was admittedly a little uncomfortable to work with the occasional dismissive huff from his partner who just looked him up and down and rolled his eyes. How rude!

They were half-way through the lesson when Feliciano worked his way through a chink in the Hufflepuff's determined armor.

"That was really close! How about you try-"

"Listen, Snakeskin, I don't need your help with this."

_Thank you_.

"Snakeskin?" He repeated loudly, not angry at all and making sure his tone reflected that! "No no no! My name is _Feliciano!_" He said it as loud as he could without shouting, effectively quieting the murmur of students trying to get their cups of water to froth up without actually touching the beads of soap at the bottom. "A silly mistake but I can see how you'd make it: _Snakeskin_, _Feliciano_, mm! Yes, very similar!"

"Is there an issue, Mister Vargas?" Professor Flitwick called, and he turned a beaming smile on the professor who was curiously watching the exchange from his perch atop a stack of books.

"No no no, Professor! My partner and I just forgot to introduce ourselves before we started today!" And then he turned on the disgraced little boy sitting next to him. "So, my name's Feliciano, what's yours?"

"Mm-"

"Mm? I don't know that name! Is it very English? My mother tongue is Italian you see, so..." He trailed off with the expectation that the boy would open his mouth and speak, and a quick glance at Professor Flitwick showed the Deputy Headmaster standing with his hands clasped in front of him, an expectant look on his face when the Hufflepuff boy looked at him for help and received none.

"Cat got your tongue, Mister Baker?"

"David..." He finally squeaked, the whole class watching before he turned around again to look at Feliciano, who was still smiling, and then summed up whatever manners he'd been raised with and offered his wandless hand for a shake. "David Baker."

"Pleasure to work with you, David." And Feliciano shook his hand enthusiastically, twisting back around in his seat and picking his wand back up before staring down into their shared wooden cup. "Let's try again! This is a useful spell for stirring tea too, isn't it? Do you like tea, David? All the English kids in Slytherin just love it but I miss espresso like we have in Italy!"

Professor Flitwick went back to monitoring his lesson, the other students drifted back to their charms, and no one whispered the word "snakeskin" for the rest of that morning.

The afternoon was something else entirely, because Feliciano couldn't remember a single date for the test they wrote. To make up for it, he scribbled an extra page of parchment on the back of the essay portion explaining _briefly_ how the same issue of hoop skirts and cauldron fires had been dealt with in Italy. He then scratched out his name every time it showed up in the essay and scribbled "England" on top, hoping for the best.

Potions was a lot like Herbology had been that morning, meaning Feliciano was flat-out ignored and then blatantly whispered about for the entire lesson by their Gryffindor classmates. The difference here was that he kept up his efforts to let Ellie get a solid day of not being the Slytherin class's spare-wheel and was left, after a rude best-four-out-of-seven draw between Gryffindor wands, paired with a sulky Rose Weasley over a cauldron and set of ingredients.

"Your stupid fight," she hissed at him, unscrewing a jar of spider legs and shaking far too many onto the brass scales she hogged on her side of the cauldron, "Cost Gryffindor fifty points yesterday."

"I made the first strike, not the first move," he whispered back, not even bothering to try and help make the potion because she was too angry to let him within six inches of the cauldron's edge. "Would you be this angry if my robes were blue? Or yellow?"

Rose slammed the thick glass bottle she was holding on the table, cracking it so hard that for the second time that day Feliciano found himself the centre of (almost) everyone's attention.

"But that's just it!" She was so angry over something that had nothing to do with her directly. "They aren't blue, or yellow, or _red_. You don't belong with smart Ravenclaws or nice Hufflepuffs or brave Gryffindors, you're just as much a snake as the rest of the Slytherins!"

"Do you think you're brave for acting like this, Miss Weasley?" England's voice spoke over his shoulder and where Feliciano expected to find him and Scorpius standing at his back, it was England and Ellie. "For causing another scene? The way I heard it told, Vargas took down three Gryffindors on his own before managing to get away. What were they-? Jordan, another Weasley and-?"

"Mention my cousin Louis again, Kirkland and I'll give you a black eye."

"Vargas already did that to Potter!" Higgs chimed in, footsteps stomping as he came up behind the group, Scorpius probably with him too. "Or did you break his jaw instead?"

"Don't-" When he saw Albus Potter come up to join his cousin and defend his brother, Feliciano tried to turn off the angry burn growing in his gut and keeping his fingers flat and rigid at his side. He would not lash out again, he absolutely refused to let another fight break out even with so much tension ripping the classroom apart.

"Who's joining Creevey's tournament?" He said loudly, raising his voice again, but this time he didn't try to laugh and smile through the anger, he just spoke and kept speaking. "House against house, wand against wand! Plenty of spells and no one gets in trouble for it either!"

"Slytherin's a shoe-in to win!" England announced, singing a different tune in front of Weasley now that he was angry and not as level-headed. "Especially if the Gryffindors are too scared for a bit of sport."

"I'm in!" A Gryffindor girl with braided yellow hair announced, standing up behind her cauldron. There was a ruckus in the desks behind Feliciano before he heard two girls, Finnick and her friend, pipe up in the back.

"The winner gets a hundred points for their house, consider us both in!"

"I don't even need the points." Rose Weasley growled, staring right through him and then glaring at England where he had his arms folded briskly in front of him to Feliciano's left.

"I'm in too!" Albus answered.

"And me!" Scorpius.

It was just a chorus of yelling after that, seven Slytherins to ten Gryffindors making pledges and boasts.

"In _what?_" Until a loud, low voice broke through and they all turned to see Professor Slughorn struggling to get to his feet from the chair he'd fallen asleep reclined in about fifteen minutes ago. "Whoosit-? What's going on! Getting into what now? What trouble? Everyone return to your cauldrons please, don't let those antidotes burn! Ten points for every expertly prepared antidote, children, doesn't that mean anything to you?"

"Professor!" Rose Weasley chimed as their classmates began to turn away and shuffle back to their places. The murmuring voices didn't stop Rose from turning to face Slughorn like a proper little student and raising a hand despite already standing and being clearly visible. "I refuse to share my points with Vargas."

"You refuse?" Slughorn repeated, dumbfounded, and Feliciano rolled his eyes at the petty declaration. "Well that's fine then, no points for you at all then. Who's ready then? None of you? Well hurry up now we've only got another ten minutes!"

At dinner that night Feliciano didn't eat more than few bites of anything, less willing than usual to put up with the bland British food offered at the school and not satisfied with the raw flavours of pork and potato or the fruits and sweets that came later.

He didn't get a break after the meal either, because while England and the other Slytherins went to put their names down for the Defense Against the Dark Arts' professor's tournament, Feliciano broke away and hurried to the fourth floor where Professor Malfoy and his detention assignment for the fight were waiting.

Inside, he found Professor Creevey, Professor Longbottom, and Professor Malfoy having a stand-off in the middle of the infirmary. He slipped inside without being seen or heard over the three men speaking loudly at each other and hid behind one of the white curtains between the beds.

"Four Gryffindors to one and you expect me to believe that-"

"_Why_ would he even be _near_ Gryffindor tower in the middle of the afternoon and _how dare you_-"

"_GENTLEMEN!"_

Feliciano had to admit, his mood improved a little hearing Professor Creevey, a young Wizard who was always sunshine and smiles while telling them the best way to hold their wand in an encounter and where to fire at a troll versus a dragon to buy themselves the most time to escape, raise his voice. Professor Creevey's golden rule of facing down magical creatures was to do whatever would give you the most time to escape, he didn't advocate killing Vampires or Werewolves or exercising evil spirits, he took the _defense_ part of his title very seriously and taught them the best way to get _away _from dangerous things.

But he didn't hesitate to get between two outraged warlocks, because there was a heavy weight of magic saturating the air even from Feliciano's hiding place. The two house heads hadn't pulled their wands, but they were _outraged._

"First of all," Professor Creevey began, "the tournament isn't until the start of May, so I don't know what either of you are going on about. _Second-_"

"Dennis this-"

"_Second, Professor Longbottom_, I teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. Not you, _or you,_ Draco. I teach it. I teach the disarming spells, the shield charms, the leg locks, the techniques, the drills, the theories, _all of it._ I teach that, _not you_, therefore _I_ will judge who competes, _not you two._"

"Students who go around _picking fights_ in the halls-"

"Should be given an opportunity to fight in a safe, controlled environment where they can be monitored and educated!" As much as Professor Longbottom sounded like he had more to say, once Professor Creevey started he hit his stride and just kept going: "And Neville, you're my friend but that's a _dangerous_ argument to make about Vargas, especially where James Potter is concerned. Who do you _really_ think started that mess last night? Be honest with yourself."

"Yes, Longbottom, _be honest_."

"Put a sock in it, Malfoy."

"He's a bit of a dick. I'll say it for you because we all know it and it won't leave this room: he's a bit of a dick, Neville be honest."

"James Potter is the son of one of the _bravest_ heroes this school and all of Britain has ever known."

"And he _knows it_." Professor Malfoy barely factored into the conversation anymore, it was Creevey who moaned the words and Feliciano could practically see him rocking on his heels, hands stuffed down his robes as the three of them had a chat that probably belonged in the staff room. "He knows it, Neville, and he's _brilliant,_ he is brilliant, but he knows it. There's almost no one who comes close to bringing him down a peg and doesn't _that_ sound like someone we used to know?" Feliciano didn't understand that comment, or the long pause in the conversation. "Eh, Draco? Sound familiar? Even a little bit, Mister Malfoy? Rich boy, stellar marks, Quidditch star and all that?"

"Put a sock in it, Creevey."

"Alright, I've made my point and that's all I wanted. So stop _fighting_ you two. Don't- I mean, don't become _friends_ or anything because that'd just be _weird_ but- stop bickering! It's not like either of you to act like that. The tournament's my headache and you're both forgetting the most important thing: Vargas is in second year, Potter is in third so even if they both sign up, there's no way for them to fight each other!"

"I'm going to hold you to that, Creevey."

The conversation was winding down when Feliciano made a very gutsy decision and darted back to the door, slipping through as fast and quiet as he could and holding his breath in the hall just in case he'd been caught. When no voices shouted for him, he felt safe enough to relax, and stayed outside until the infirmary doors opened a minute later with Professors Longbottom and Creevey standing there looking surprised to see him.

Exactly the reaction he'd wanted.

"Professor Creevey! Professor Longbottom!" He greeted, putting on a sunny smile.

"Vargas." Longbottom seemed a lot less comfortable with the greeting than Creevey, the Defense teacher smiling with his curly blond hair cut in a round shape over his ears, deep laugh lines around his square jaw and blunt chin. He had happy green eyes and was, possibly, one of Feliciano's favourite teachers. He was certainly one of the fairest in terms of points and expectations.

"Put your name down for the tournament yet, Mister Vargas?" Creevey asked, and Feliciano understood the exasperation that flashed on Longbottom's face.

"Not yet, sir. Tonight if I can, but tomorrow morning for sure!" He hadn't had to talk to Creevey specifically about it and his nerve hadn't found a reason to fail him.

The professors left shortly after, the sparse conversation killed when they confirmed that he was there to serve detention. He slipped back into the infirmary as soon as they were gone, Professor Creevey's voice fading down the corridor as he chattered happily to Longbottom.

"Back again, Mister Vargas?" Professor Malfoy was standing in his usual place in the middle of the infirmary, arms folded and a hard, brittle line carved across his face instead of a mouth. His grey eyes, however, seemed cheerful.

"Sir?"

"Do you make a habit of sneaking in and out of professors' conversations, Vargas?" Oh crap- "I don't think either of them saw you, but this is _my_ infirmary, and I miss nothing."

There was a soft squeaking noise somewhere behind him that made Feliciano jump, spin around and see nothing, then look back at the professor when he chuckled softly.

"Check your bag."

Feliciano looked down and saw a pair of beady black eyes staring up at him, dark brown irii hidden in the dark depths fringed with soft white fur and a long nose tipped with a pink, snuffling end. The animal sitting in the space between his textbooks had tiny little ears, stubby paws, and an unusually long body until he realized what it was: a ferret.

"Come come." The Professor stated, still smiling as with another squeak the ferret planted its stubby paws on the edge of Feliciano's history of magic text book and heaved its smooth white body out of the bag, dropping gracelessly to the floor before it rolled around and then quickly scampered up to the professor, little claws finding holds in his white robes as it climbed straight up to his shoulders and draped itself behind his neck, nose snuffling happily at his ear and cheek before Professor Malfoy stroked the animal to calm it down.

"You have a pet!" Feliciano gasped, confused that he'd never heard or seen it before!

"Yes, a gift from Longbottom unfortunately." The kind way Professor Malfoy was scratching the ferret's neck undermined the disdainful way he said the words. "Usually she sleeps in the dormitory, but yesterday I had her out looking for you." And maybe _that_ explained why Professor Malfoy was fine keeping his business up on the fourth floor instead of somewhere closer to the Slytherin common room. Between the secret passage just outside the infirmary door and his familiar nesting somewhere in the common room, he was as good as already in the room.

"Does she have a name?"

"Bella." Aahhh!

"What a perfect name for such a beautiful animal! I didn't think you'd choose something in Italian!"

The professor looked wildly confused for a second after Felicaino gave his praise, it made him quickly listen to his own words again to see if he'd said something wrong, but he couldn't pick up on it. Finally, professor Malfoy smiled again and the moment passed.

"I suppose it does mean something in Italian, doesn't it?" Watching something pass between wizard and familiar, Bella the ferret slid down her master's robes with a happy squeak and immediately shuffled across the polished stone floors past Feliciano towards the doors. "But since I've answered your question, won't you answer one of mine?"

"Of course, Professor." Letting the strap of his bag off his shoulder so it could rest on the floor, for detention so far this wasn't so bad and he clasped his hands behind his back, shoulders dropped and feet comfortably spread.

"Vargas..." He heard the sound of the doors locking and then another happy coo from the ferret as it scrambled across the floor and then came slipping by on its belly to hide under the hem of Professor Malfoy's robes. "I understand your brother's name is Lovino Vargas. I assume that means he's named after your father?"

Ah... Feliciano had forgotten that he was supposed to be waiting for this question.

"Mm, yes Professor, it's the same name." And the same person, but he couldn't go getting into that could he? "My family has a long history of duelling."

"And your father brought that name to the entire world during the war… Is that how a thirteen year old boy like yourself can supposedly redirect spells?"

Feliciano just... smiled. It was wrong to be proud of himself for hitting children with their own jinxes, but it had been wrong of them to attack him in the first place. His reaction seemed good enough for Professor Malfoy anyways.

"Are you ready to begin then?"

"Begin?" Feliciano watched Professor Malfoy's wand appear in his hand and then swish in a complex series of circles, white lines cutting themselves across the floor to form a long rectangular box around the both of them, just over half the length of the infirmary and about seven feet wide. Shimmering half-walls of light rose up to the ceiling, and then they crept across to seal them in a full box. Another flick of the Professor's wand, and Feliciano's book bag was swept away out of the box and under one of the infirmary beds.

"Mister Vargas, I will not have you perpetuating the stereotype that Slytherins get into fights only to back out and run away half-way through. Outmatched or not, we always retain our dignity."

"Yes, Professor."

"Draw your wand."

Feliciano did as he was told, a nagging bit of anxiety biting the back of his neck while a familiar warmth crept up from his right hand. It was hard to ignore the quiet whisper from the rod between his fingers, the power wrapped up inside, and when Professor Malfoy bowed Feliciano mimicked him, his mind beginning to unfold with spells and ideas. All the while of course, the anxiety was there telling him not to dare use something to outrageous. What _had_ Professor Creevey been trying to teach them this week?

"Begin."

Professor Malfoy took first strike and it stopped Feliciano's thoughts when a pink leg-log jinx came screaming at him through the air. His stance immediately corrected itself, right leg forward and weight shifted back, right hand slashing up through the air to catch the enchantment by the tip of his wand, windmilling back to slam it to the floor before the bright green of a laughing charm launched off his wand with the follow-through swing.

He didn't see what Professor Malfoy countered with because the two spells collided with a loud crack and a burst of silver sparks. Right when he thought there would be a pause for instruction, a bright flash of light came screaming at him and training he'd half-forgotten a life time ago made him jump back and reverse his stance, wand raised defensively and sweeping around to catch the new spe-

Another one right behind it, flying low and without the bright light and colour of a pesky jinx snared his left ankle where it was out in front, ripping his shoe back and off the floor with his ankle and leg right behind it. He slammed his elbow in the floor trying to protect his face and felt the intense heat of the spell he'd caught overwhelming the wand and shooting a crippling pain down his arm until he almost released his grip to make the spell stop.

He punched the floor hard, bruising his wand-hand to dispel the painful enchantment before the snare trap relented. Instead of lying there for a break, he was back up with his left hand wrapped around his stinging wrist, the burns from yesterday mostly gone but still sensitive around his elbow where so much movement was agitating them.

"You recover quickly, Vargas."

"One more round!"

"Your wand can only carry one spell at a time. If redirection is your only defense, you won't last long in Creevey's tournament."

"_One more!_"

The dust and smoke of the collision was fading, and through it as Professor Malfoy swished his wand to blow the veil away, Feliciano could see a smile.

The pain in his hand started going away, a simple bruise a small thing that healed easily and would be gone before the match was over. Bringing his stance back up properly, Feliciano nodded to show he was ready.

Shield charms were cropping up in his mind, deflection, absorption, repellants- but they were all old spells that Creevey hadn't come close to showing them yet, how would he explain them? He had to just stop worrying about it as Professor Malfoy's wand dipped low and arced back up, a dark green ribbon blooming from the tip before he whipped his wand forward and the spell took form.

It was thick and heavy, dark green with very real weight to it. Feliciano heard himself swear when the body of a long viper uncurled itself from the ribbon and began slithering, _quickly_, straight for him.

A blast-back charm to blow the creature away from him was dodged by its sleek body, Felicaino firing a stunning spell before it swerved around that too and half his distance and time to act were both gone.

"Think _faster_."

He was thinking, he was _thinking_ but every spell was too strong and he struck them all down, struck like-

_Struck._

_Lightning!_

"Vargas..."

He pulled his wand back when the snake reared up and hissed loudly, water jetting from the tip only to be caught in the fast stirring motion Flitwick had made them practice. A orb of rapidly spinning water formed next to him and he spun it faster than the shape could handle, lashing it forward and focusing completely on keeping the water from splashing everywhere. Instead, it split evenly in half in two thin arms of cold, frothing white liquid and attacked.

One struck the floor when the snake dodged, but the other cracked down straight on its head to stun it briefly. It was close enough to lunge for him and Feliciano's wrist snapped his wand high over his shoulder and then down in a rapid zig-zag.

"_Coruscantis!"_

A loud bolt of heat burnt straight down from his shoulder and out his fingertips before the wand refined the energy into a seamless stream of electricity. The snake leapt right into it, fangs bared, and was vaporized instantly.

The electricity then shot along the water on the floor, cracking and screaming as it filled the air with blinding light and then vanished with a fateful boom.

The first thing Feliciano was able to hear again over the lingering roar and the sound of his own heavy breaths, was Professor Malfoy's slow, approving applause.

"_Quite_ impressive, Mister Vargas." The white walls protecting the infirmary from their duel were beginning to fade, winking out of existence with bits of stardust sprinkled through the air to show where they'd been hanging. "I was beginning to wonder if I wouldn't need the anti-venom after all."

The fight was over, the threat was gone, and Feliciano's knees went weak before the rest of him just plopped straight down on the floor, shaking a little bit and looking for his breath. Professor Malfoy's wand was already cleaning up the water as he crossed the floor to reach him, saying something thanking Flitwick for a surprisingly useful charm. By the time he was standing directly over Feliciano, his young body was screaming for sleep, and there was a wonderful feeling of his adult mind being well worked from the exercise.

It wasn't very nice having to stuff the most useful spells he'd ever learned in a box and label them _do not touch_ because of this mission. He hadn't even been allowed to cancel Professor Malfoy's spell before it was finished...

"That's enough for tonight." The professor offered him a hand to help him stand up and Felicaino accepted it, surprised when a floating tray holding a ceramic mug of hot cocoa floated down from somewhere unseen and was offered to him. Thrilled with treat, he didn't mind at all when Professor Malfoy took his wand hand firmly and checked to see if he'd injured it badly enough to warrant healing. He hadn't. "However, I expect to see you at Duelling club meetings twice weekly from now until May, understood?"

"Mm- yes, sir." Feliciano was more interested in the chocolate drink, enjoying the invitation to sit on one of the beds with some of the day's homework while he sipped the creamy beverage and rounded out the hour of detention.

It was, in his exhausted mind, not a bad end to a long Monday afternoon.

* * *

**Even though Arthur and Feli both redirected spells in their respective fights, Longbottom simply didn't believe a First Year could pull that maneuver off, and Rose wasn't in any condition to confirm that that was what happened. The first thing the two Gryffindors Feli stunned would have said when Malfoy fixed them would be accusations of **_**"he threw it back at me!"**_

**And if McGonagall can punish Harry Potter by making him join the Quidditch team, then Malfoy can punish Feli by making him join the Duelling club :3**


	25. Preliminaries

**Darkness on the Edge of Power, Invictus, 8 Dawn and Trailerhead albums.**

**Currently working on chapter 35 for the tumblr updates, but somehow not yet at Christmas in third year. However I've been doing my best to pump out an average of 4000 words per day on this project, so don't think I'm not working just because time isn't moving quickly!**

**Thank you so much for the reviews, this story's really having an impact on my account!**

* * *

**_Snakeskins_**

Preliminaries

After Arthur and Italy, who had an unfair advantage with such things, the best duellist in Second year was a bit of a surprise.

It wasn't Gamp, who lacked the self-confidence to strictly command her wand to attack and defend.

It wasn't Scorpius, who got too caught up in defending himself to ever launch a counter.

It was Higgs.

Higgs wasn't afraid of getting hurt, giving him the strength and stubbornness to simply stand there and hold his stance with spells flying straight at his face. He wasn't the fastest draw or the most skilled with his wand-work and skill repertoire, but he knew what spells worked and did he _ever_ know how to conjure them.

"_EX-PELLI-ARMUS!"_

He very nearly broke Arthur's wand during a practice round in mid-March, either because screaming the spell at the top of your lungs really did make it stronger, or Higgs unlocked something in his gut that made them a _hell_ of a lot stronger.

Higgs' enunciation was pristine. By giving him the active commitment of going to Duelling Club and getting a chance to pair up and aggressively face off against other students, Slytherin or not, brought a kind of focus to Charles Higgs that began boosting his marks in their casting classes over the course of second and third terms. It was actually quite good to see.

But the strongest duellist in Slytherin house, by a long shot, was still Italy.

It was damned annoying too because even with a sword he was usually better. He was Rome's grandson for goodness' sake, and there was nothing more dangerous than giving him war-games and pretend fights to show how much skill there was hiding under that dopey grin.

He was fast and he was small, receiving criticism from Professor Creevey at times for bouncing on the balls of his feet like a fencer instead of keeping a firmly rooted position like a duelling wizard. It was perhaps the only area of direct criticism where Professor Creevey fell flat, because the way he balanced himself made Italy that much harder to take down in a duel. He could swerve, bend, dip, jump and twist to avoid pretty much anything that wasn't otherwise deflected off his wand or snagged out of the air and flung back at the original caster.

He kept his spells elementary and limited the flourishes and strength of them- these bodies of theirs wore out too quickly otherwise, going all out would probably put them straight to sleep with the need to recharge. It was a mental exercise that had them both sleeping much better.

Arthur, meanwhile, absolutely despised the limits on his powers and was more than a little fed up waiting for May to hurry up and get here. His greatest distraction, as it had been all year, was the issue of Hogwarts' art-work.

Instead of letting Italy get caught again, Arthur was the one who made two more trips to the locked room after several more increasingly violent attacks were made on more picture frames. Just like when Italy had visited them in February, by April every dead piece of art had an Italian name scratched on the back, and they all looked like someone had been desperately trying to claw their way _through_ them.

The most curious thing about them now, as well, was that while every single attack had been accompanied by a scream, the school was beginning to buzz now about the fact that, regardless of who the painting's subject was, the scream always belonged to a woman...

Sadly, all of that had to be set aside once May finally approached, because three whole months of anticipation somehow hadn't put the fear of a good fight into Italy. He was absolutely determined to follow through with his plan and proving to the school that unwarranted attacks on Slytherin students would no longer be tolerated.

And Arthur, because of his own damned temper, was obligated to join the tournament with him on the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts.

That was Creevey's entire purpose behind having the tournament: the Battle. It was in fact an annual event at Hogwarts beginning with his first year as Professor, but had been cancelled last year for- well, precisely the same reason that Arthur and Italy were even in attendance now.

What they were simply unable to work out, no matter how much they pestered Zabini or the hints they dropped around professors, was _why_ Creevey had felt the need to suspend his successful duelling tournament on the twenty-year anniversary of the war's end and the first anniversary of the double suicide that had brought the inquiry to Hogwarts.

It just didn't make sense.

It meant that instead of becoming irrelevant, the cancelation was something that started eating away at Italy almost as badly as the anticipation for the tournament.

The Battle of Hogwarts had largely been won by the student population of the school, and the members of Dumbledore's Army: the force which Professors Longbottom and Creevey both had fat Galleon coins from. That was why the duelling club was so important, and why the tournament even included invitations for parents and veterans to come visit the school just before exams and watch the students face off in friendly competition. These were the skills that had defended the school and stopped the Dark Lord's campaign, and they deserved reverence and celebration.

Or, in Italy's case:

"_NO I AM NOT FUCKING COMING TO YOUR STUPID-ASS PIECE OF SHIT-"_ so on and so forth with the Saturday morning post before a bubbling ceramic dish of crab and ricotta cannelloni was deposited in front of Italy, who even received a freshly baked loaf of bread to tear apart and help him eat his merry way through the delicacy.

"So I take it he isn't coming."

"_Nope._" But Italy really didn't seem upset, he was more worried about not burning his tongue just with the metal edge of his spoon because the meal was still steaming from the oven that had cooked it. "He's in London, but he's busy with work in your brother's office." Ignoring the fact that Scotland had already politely agreed, so long as they maintained the foster-child story so he could explain his lack of aging one way or another to the veterans tomorrow.

"Better enjoy that meal, Vargas, it might be your last!" Charles was absolutely bursting at the seams getting ready for today, clapping Italy hard on the shoulders so he almost choked around a bite of bread and creamy sauce. The larger boy dropped himself onto the seat to Italy's left and had a copy of the Daily Prophet that he dropped on the table, causing Scorpius to stand up a little from across a platter of eggs to get a look at it.

"That the article about the Tournament?" Scorpius asked, reaching a hand over his breakfast. "Give it here, I'll read it."

And he did. A bit of riff-raff about the pageantry of the event and the exclusive nature of the invitations: only the parents and guardians of students were to be in attendance, excluding higher beaurocrats from the Ministry and perhaps even the _Minister of Magic_ _himself_.

"Preliminaries are today, are you lot ready?" Charles's thick face was beaming, Arthur had thought Quidditch was his calling after the way he'd helped train Scorpius to a painfully narrow defeat against Ravenclaw a week earlier, but obviously it was duelling. There was a healthy pink glow in his pale cheeks and a light in his eyes that was unfamiliar and much appreciated. "Only two people from each house and each year get to compete tomorrow. Professor Malfoy gets to judge us too so there'll be no funny business with the numbers."

"It's a panel, Charles." Scorpius corrected, handing back the newspaper and finishing off his breakfast without really minding the conversation. Gamp was the one to pick up on the issue first where she was sitting next to him. Arthur almost didn't hear her question:

"You're thinking about the game again, aren't you?"

"I was _so close!_" A groan from the three of them sitting across from him didn't stop Scorpius from going into the same rant he'd been on all week. "I could feel the damned snitch between my fingertips and then that _bludger-_"

"You're just lucky the Professor managed to put your leg back together," Arthur scoffed.

"No, I'm lucky he agreed not to tell _mum_ he had to put my leg back together." Was the sulking answer.

Arthur didn't see Italy's wand until he'd already let a curse off the end, because Scorpius' lips were abruptly glued shut and he ended up smacking his own face with an apple when his jaw didn't automatically open.

"No Quidditch before noon, I warned you."

"_Mmm!"_

"Vargas..." Even though she was sitting right next to him, Gamp tried getting Italy's attention instead of helping Scorpius where the other boy had fire in his eyes and was fumbling to get his wand out. "Err, Feli..." Thankfully, once Scorpius had his wand he just sat there defeated because he couldn't say the spell to unstick his mouth. It was Higgs who offered help. The nations were watching Gamp.

And she seemed to notice that it wasn't just Italy paying attention but Arthur as well, because Gamp squirmed rather hard on her seat with Arthur watching. She calmed down a little when he pretended to be more interested in Higgs' warning that the counter-curse might turn Scorpius' face blue if he did it wrong.

"Are you sure you're alright with your brother not coming?"

"Ve~? Of course! It's nothing to worry about, Ellie, he's very busy you know!"

"It just seems like he's always busy." A fair observation, but one that seemed to trouble her a bit too much as she pointed it out. "He's as close as London but he still won't come up to watch you compete. I thought your family was really big into duelling?"

"We have a legacy, but my brother isn't into that kind of thing anymore."

Breakfast ended with Gamp excusing herself despite the dangers of going alone, and Arthur pulling out his wand to help set Scorpius' mouth back in order and deal with the beard Higgs' sloppy wand work had painted down his irate little chin.

"I'll get you both for that, I swear it!"

"You'll get a chance to try at least." Higgs was confident, in fact he was down-right boastful and unusually friendly as a result. "No hard feelings after I pound you lot into the ground this afternoon, right?"

"All's fair, I don't mind." Arthur agreed, laughing a little with his chin resting on his palm.

"I've already decided I'm going to win, but let's stay friends!"

They sealed the agreement with synchronized wand waves that turned their pumpkin juice bright green, Scorpius quickly making a grab for Gamp's cup and adding it to the circle in case she came back.

They toasted, cheered, and drank down the goblets, chattering the rest of their morning away until it was time to clear out and make ready for the tournament.

"Second years first! Be aware that second years will be called upon first for their duelling! Then the third, fourth, fifth, and so on!" Outside the great hall was the only other ghost aside from Nearly Headless Nick that the Slytherins saw more than once a month by accident. The Fat Friar, Hufflepuff house ghost, seemed to feel rather safe fluttering around over the heads of students, a ghostly scroll unfurled in his hands where a much larger version of the same information was pegged to the stone wall behind him.

"The second year competition will commence in one hour inside the Great Hall! Third years in two and a half hours, fourth years..." and so on and so forth. It would literally take all day for the preliminaries to get themselves over and done with, the real competition was tomorrow and that would be when everyone would gather to watch.

The Slytherin boys were outside under the May sunshine when Gamp caught up with them again, Arthur flicking his wand to remove a few broken feathers from the hem of her robe that declared the fact that she'd been up in the owlery again as usual. None of them questioned what she'd been doing up there, it was her normal place to go when she wanted to be alone and didn't feel like putting up with the other Slytherin girls down in the dorms.

They practiced spells and Arthur eventually grew bored enough that he and Gamp settled down with weekend homework, but finally the bell for the competition started ringing and they, along with every other second year in the school, flooded back into the great hall.

There was also a suspicious number of first years.

"What are you lot doing down here?" Arthur questioned, three first year Slytherin girls sitting on one of the benches pushed right up against the wall on the Slytherin side of the hall and bouncing uncontrollably with hands clasped and faces grinning. They didn't have to answer him because Arthur was only in second year, but their giggling annoyed him just the same.

The four tables were to be used as four platforms, the banner of each house hanging over their respective places while house heads were standing and giving instructions, Professor McGonagall presiding over the entire thing from the head table.

"Draw your wands and I will affix the charm." Professor Malfoy was saying. It was a charm that would assign the six assembled second years a colour so they knew who they would be fighting first. Arthur did a wild spin to try and find the seventh member of their year, and found Miss Finnick sitting with her arms crossed by the first years. She didn't seem interested in the least.

The tables had been covered in white clothes that had a rubbery texture to them, a much safer platform than the polished wood under clunky school shoes would have been. White curtains of protective magic were hovering in the air as well, meant to stop wayward curses or deflected spells from harming other competitors or audience members.

The rules were simple, combatants had to maintain a certain distance from each other, in their case that meant they couldn't leave the green section of the table cover on either end of the platform. There was enough available space to step away from an attack, but there would be no diving, rolling, or running permitted. They could use any combination of Hogwarts curriculum spells, but were instructed by Professor Malfoy to fight fairly.

With a flick of his wand, Arthur was given a pale blue light on the tip and quickly looked around to see-

"Oh _bollocks._" -Italy standing next to him with a grin and an identical pastel glow on his wand too.

"It's better this way, Kirkland." Yes it was, they'd already known they couldn't _both_ represent Slytherin without some heavy explaining to do to the Headmistress, but Arthur had been hoping for something a bit less dramatic for his first round.

They weren't the first ones up, that privilege went to Gamp and Miss Flint who'd both drawn red. The four boys all cheered and clapped, but they couldn't actually say which one they wanted to win, although it should have been obvious.

Flint and Finnick probably weren't meant to be mean-spirited, but they certainly didn't like Arthur very much since he'd claimed half-blood status and preferred to spend their time with older Slytherin girls instead of the rest of their year. Flint was quite the tall girl, her skin milky to the point of looking swallow, and she had a perpetually unhappy face that made Arthur think of the pureblood family as a whole that had raised her.

"Bow, and begin!"

The girls bowed and Gamp looked like she was going to be sick, rolling her wand against her palm and breathing through her mouth.

"Damn, at least if it was one of us she could have a bit of fun with it." Scorpius complained, his voice absolutely quiet so neither the Professor nor the second year Ravenclaws just next to them could hear what he said. Arthur hummed his agreement while Italy was focused solely on the match.

The match was over quickly. Gamp's charm misfired in a gush of smoke from her wand-tip and a harsh disarming spell from Flint sent the wand flying so far it nearly hit the head table.

"Excellent form, Miss Flint. You may take a seat, Miss Gamp."

Scorpius and Higgs were next, which led to several sharp volleys and even two connections: one a tap-dancing spell that got Higgs to jig around the table like he probably never had in his life, the other a laughing charm that filled the hall with the sound of Scorpius gasping uncontrollably trying to lift his wand again. He was disarmed after what looked like a salamander slithered out of his wand and plopped in a daze to the floor, and was still giggling uncontrollably as he joined Finnick and Gamp on the bench next to the first years. At least he kept his spirits up.

"You're going to make me regret this." Arthur sighed, looking at Italy as they both climbed up to the table and took the steps made of several hovering books. Before they parted to reach their respective ends, Italy turned and offered him a smile and a genuine handshake.

"Second year spells only, remember?" What an awful person he was inside.

"I'm kicking you out of the EU."

Italy went to his end laughing, and Arthur stomped onto the green part of the table and looked down at the Slytherin serpent blazed across the tarp. The hardest part of a formal wizarding duel was remembering not to charge your opponent, something Arthur found practically impossible after millennia of face-to-face combat. It was worse than fencing where you stopped every few strokes if there was a touch, so refined and restricted that it made his inner warrior struggle to stay back.

They were going to need a proper fight sometime over the summer to get it out of his system.

They bowed at Professor Malfoy's signal, and with ten yards between them, England took first strike.

A red stunning spell was launched off his arm and a jet of water from Italy's wand slashed through the air and disrupted the attack in mid-flight. Arthur's fingers twisted around his wand before he called on a leg-lock spell that would pin Italy's knees together.

A hiss and bang like a firework exploded next to his ear and the surging light of the sneaky spell blinded him, ears ringing as he forced his eyes open before they were focused and let a gout of red fire off his fingertips and out through the wand. He could physically feel the energy draining out of his shrunken body, flesh withering as it gave up life-force trying to propel magic that second years could _know_ but would be damned if they could put this much power behind.

There was a metallic taste in the air before the rush of steam and more water. Arthur didn't know how Italy spun the water from his wand into two liquid arms, but they split around the fire to douse it from all sides and then kept going.

What he thought more fire was going to do against the a wall of water half as tall as him was a mystery, but he did try and all at once Arthur was washed away in the surge and felt the table slip right out from under his feet.

He landed with a crash on the floor, soaking wet but otherwise unharmed, and was furious when he heard clapping from Professor Malfoy.

"I'm not even injured, you dolt!" Not the professor: Italy.

"You can't leave the platform!" _Don't take that sing-song tone with him!_

"_I'LL GIVE YOU A PLATFORM!"_

"That's enough, Kirkland. You can join the others and have them help you dry off." He was soaking _wet _and his shoes were full of _water, _wizard games were awful things he hated the squelching sound he made as he walked over and sat himself squarely between Scorpius and Finnick. He hoped he dripped on them both.

Instead of a three-way match to decide the two who would move on for their year, the three remaining Slytherins drew lots again. The odd-colour-out was Italy, who sat back to watch Higgs and Flint go head to head. The winner of their match was safe, the loser would face Italy as a last chance to redeem themselves and kick him out of the tournament.

"Are you _alright?_" Arthur asked, looking down at where Scorpius was doubled-over and still giggling hysterically under his breath. He couldn't even watch the match!

Whatever Flint said to Charles before their match got under the larger boy's skin, because he walked quite stiffly back to his end of the platform while she glided with her nose in the air to hers. When the Professor called for a bow, there was barely an incline of the head before they started.

And as children's' duels went it was a good round, longer in fact than Arthur's own match which left a sore spot on his pride. Neither of them knew how to deflect spells and the shield charm Flint cast around herself was weak and shattered after Higgs slammed it with a stunning spell, but they kept going.

And going, until Higgs pulled his arm around and belted out a curse so hard his face went red, a black ribbon shooting from his wand that formed a snake and immediately went zipping across the table. A Slytherin classic, that one. It was inscribed over the fireplace in the common room but no one ever really thought to try it out.

Flint obviously hadn't. The speed and aggression of the snake wasn't something most children could handle, and one fateful step back sent the young witch tumbling straight off the table with a shriek.

Professor Malfoy raised his wand and the snake was dispelled in a puff of black smoke, and Higgs puffed himself up to twice his normal size as he strutted down off the table.

Finnick slammed Arthur in the gut with her elbow, which was completely uncalled for as she hissed at him.

"That's a dirty trick your friend used!"

"It's the same rule that's got _me_ sitting on this bench instead of Vargas." He huffed back, not in the mood to be picked on at all right now. He shook his dripping sleeve at her and got a disgusted screech out of the miserable child. She hissed _'half-blood!'_ like it meant something and Arthur went back to watching the competition.

Oh yes, wonder how pure-bloods like Scorpius, Higgs and Vargas could _deign_ to speak with Arthur Kirkland. Go ahead, make his day. He simply wasn't in the mood for it.

But Miss Flint _was_ in the mood to be treated kindly by Italy, who was standing beside her now where he'd helped her stand up and brush her robes off. He was chirping something foolish, probably trying to make her smile, and once it was clear that she was ready to go again, he offered a hand to help her climb the platform one more time.

On the other side of Scorpius, Gamp made an uncomfortable noise in the back of her throat and shifted heavily on her seat. Arthur looked down at Scorpius wondering if he wasn't kicking her by accident, and with a graceful push the other boy was sitting up with a proper, straight-forward look on his face.

"What have I missed then?" He asked in a rigid voice.

Arthur was about to answer, but Scorpius then promptly broke into a smile.

And put his head back between his knees when he started giggling all over again.

"Good God, man, how strong was that spell?"

If Arthur and Italy's match had been long, and Higgs and Flint's match had stretched beyond that, then it stood to reason that Italy and Flint would be up there all day on that table.

Instead, because Italy had first strike this time... It was over in under a minute after their bow.

"Are you ready, Bella?"

"My name is Gloria and yes I am!"

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure!"

"No but really, you fell so hard last time, are you sure you don't-?"

"_Thank you, Vargas, but no!"_

Gloria Flint made it half-way through his name before Italy thrust his wand forward and hers jumped out of her hand and went spinning through the air, ending the match at once. She'd broken her stance to scold him, and while there was silence from the Slytherin bench, a quick look at Professor Malfoy showed how damned hard he was trying not to break a smile and laugh like his son.

"_Questionable_ strategy, Mister Vargas, but not against the rules either." Italy performed an accio spell on Flint's wand so he could hand it back to her, and then even continued his politeness streak by offering to help her down off the platform the same way he'd walked her up. The poor girl seemed absolutely torn apart trying to figure out whether to be mad at him or flattered. "Congratulations to Mister Higgs and Mister Vargas, I'm sure you'll do Slytherin proud tomorrow. You're invited to sit and watch the rest of the preliminaries, but are otherwise free to go."

They did stick around for a little while, just long enough to catch a glimpse of Baker from Hufflepuff and then Rose Weasley and Albus Potter being cheered by the second year Gryffindors. The other houses had larger class sizes, so of course it took them a little longer to finish up.

"Wanna come back and watch Zabini compete?" Scorpius asked an hour later after the last of the jinx finally let him speak and breathe again. Italy was keeping hawk-eyes on James Potter high on the Gryffindor table while Finnick and Flint cheered for their third year friends, but Arthur, who was getting bored, thought it was a fine idea.

With over a hundred house points riding on the competition's winner, who _wouldn't_ want to come back and make sure their Head Boy made it to the finals?

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**And that's all for tonight! Leave a comment below and after my short work day tomorrow, I'll bring out 26!**


	26. The Tournament

**Ezio's Family, Invictus, Darkness on the Edge of Power.**

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**_Snakeskins_**

The Tournament

May 2nd. Feliciano had been waiting for this: Hogwarts was buzzing, and the day after the preliminary matches he was one of the last people to wake up and climb the stairs to the Slytherin common room.

"What about _your_ mom and dad?"

"Yes of course, they both know I'm in the tournament."

"Mine know I tried, I guess that's worth something."

Feliciano came upstairs to his friends talking at a small table about who would be in the audience today. Even from way down in the dungeons, there was a sense of activity and movement on the upper levels of the castle. Glancing out the window showed the Giant Squid pumping its massive body and rocketing one way under the lake, then looping back around a few minutes later. It was agitated by so many non-students already making their way into the castle.

Breakfast was served in the common room for once, and Professor Malfoy materialized at half-past ten to collect the Slytherin competitors. He and Higgs pulled away from their friends to join the professor. They left the dungeons accompanied girls and boys from the other years, including Head Boy Zabini at the front of the line representing seventh year along with one of the female prefects.

The second year competition didn't mean much. The actual breakdown and delivery of the points was saved for when they reached a wide corridor off to the side of the great hall and tucked out of the way. Professors Longbottom, Flitwick, and a plump, kindly looking witch with curly red hair whom Feliciano had only seen at the head table, never in a classroom, were all standing with the Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs respectively.

Standing on a small square platform so he could be seen and heard by everyone, Professor Creevey had his hands behind his back and a smile on his sharp face, bouncing lightly on his toes where he was draped in bars of crimson and amber, edged in gold and flickering like a Christmas cracker in the sunlight. When he raised both hands for silence, the students obeyed and his grin got a little bigger.

"Congratulations! You've made it to this year's Duelling Tournament, and you've each represented your houses fairly. In a few minutes you will be instructed to enter the great hall in order from seventh to second years and shown to your seats. This is an eight-bracket tournament with three rounds.

"At the end of each round, the winner will be awarded five house points. The winner of the final match will earn points based on your year: ten for second year, fifteen for third, twenty for forth and so on, with the exception of seventh year." There was a long pause here in the explanation, Professor Creevey's eyes combing over the students and pausing eight times with a knowing smile that ignored house colours and just spoke of pride instead. "The prize for seventh year is one hundred house points."

There was more that Creevey had to say, and a lot of it clearly had meaning to him, but the most important part was when he finally spread his hands in front of him and fell silent, a growing noise beginning to build behind the wall in front of them, the great hall filling with applause and voices as parents and the rest of the students seemed settled into place.

The last thing Professor Creevey had to say to them was simple:

"Please, make Hogwarts proud."

He left first to go back into the great hall, and the four house heads put them into order lines and neat rows, seventh years leading but not before Zabini turned around to scold the fifth year Slytherins for both wearing an enchantment on their house badges that read "_Down with Weasley! Go Zabini!_"

They were on their way after that, and while they were walking one of the third years right in front of them hissed under her breath for Feliciano to take the false house badges she was flickering behind her. He and Higgs both took one, and with a grin and a quick tap with their wands fixed the badges to their robes. From a distance, no one would see the writing.

The Weasley clan was huge and they were all deeply loyal to Gryffindor. That meant that it didn't really matter which Weasley the badges referred to because excluding second year, there seemed to be a Weasley in every Gryffindor line-up.

The great hall was decorated in silver and gold streamers, the Hogwarts' crest taking the place of the four house flags along the spine of the long chamber while the four misplaced banners were pegged to the walls.

The tables were gone and over half the hall was taken up now by staggered bleachers. There were two extended platforms in the middle of the hall for two duels to take place at the same time, the sea of black school robes on one side and then parents on the other. There were no house divisions between the rows and rows of elaborately dressed wizards and witches, at least not formally: it was hard to find a robe that wasn't Gryffindor red, Hufflepuff yellow, Ravenclaw blue or Slytherin green, and for the most part they were segregated by colour.

It was _impossible_ to miss the Weasley clan. Their order of appearance was the same as the house tables right to left: Slytherin then Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and finally Gryffindor. There were polite applause all around until the last house came, and then the Potter-Weasley clan exploded on the benches and the Gryffindor students on the other side of the hall started stomping their feet and cheering louder than the other three had bothered.

Feliciano's eyes scanned unfamiliar faces curiously, trying to follow where Higgs pointed and then waved claiming he could see his parents. He was pleased when he caught a familiar red-head in a dark green robe and white shoulder straps that made Scotland stand out regally in his flag's design but his brother's house colour, but when his eyes jumped to the next face Feliciano almost tripped and fell flat on the floor.

North Italy made eye-contact with South, who was sitting stiff and enraged on the bench next to Scotland, fixed up in a black robe with a tightly cinched neck. There was no colour or highlight to him, he was just an uncomfortable ball of hatred sitting right on the edge of the mass of red Weasleys, and as Feliciano tried to tug Higgs around so they could switch sides of the column, he caught his brother steadily beginning to lean _away_ from the louder family. Scotland seemed to be saying something that Lovino, like a wet cat, had no interest in, but then there was a sharp jolt when their eyes met.

What was he doing here?

_Why the hell was he here!?_

Was Feliciano happy? Was he scared? A bit of both actually but a lot more of the latter. It should have taken an act of god to bring Lovino to a magical place like this, dressed in a wizarding robe again and not firmly marching to get whatever he'd come here for.

Maybe their government was collapsing, or their neighbours were beginning to fight? Was the banking industry crumbling again and their exports were under threat of being shut down? Had the manufacturing sector-

"Vargas, are you alright?" Feliciano was so lost in his own fears that he almost walked right past his seat before Higgs took him by the back of his robes and dropped him down in his chair next to the duelling platform. "Oh God, not now! One of us is up first you know, don't blow it for Slytherin!"

Right- well, no actually. He wasn't doing this for points and just having Lovino in the crowd wasn't going to mess him up in a children's duel. It was the way Scotland ribbed Lovino with his elbow that made Feliciano calm down a little bit, because it broke the eye-contact between them so Lovino could yell at Scotland to not touch him and then come back around with a proper glare.

He dragged his thumb horizontally across his throat and Feliciano made himself slump in his seat a little bit. At least _'I'm going to kill you'_ was a better message to get than _'we need to talk right-fucking-now'_.

Charles Higgs was a lot of things, but he wasn't stupid.

"Who's that foul looking wizard in the black robe?"

"My brother."

"I thought you said he wasn't coming?"

Feliciano sat up high enough to hiss back that the last he'd heard was the last everybody else had heard in that howler yesterday morning, but he was cut off by Professor McGonagall announcing from somewhere that they were ready to begin, and she called two second year names Feliciano didn't know to rise to the table. A Hufflepuff girl and the familiar form of Albus Potter both got up to cheers from their houses and families, and Higgs answered his name to hurry up alongside a Ravenclaw boy while the noise continued. Both sets of second years waited for Professor Creevey's signal, and began.

Feliciano didn't pay much attention because he could see the disturbed look on Lovino's face through the back and forth of curses. The matches were over quickly like most duels in younger years were meant to be: Higgs belted out a stunning curse that made the Ravenclaw boy seize up and tip over, and Albus Potter let off a very fast disarming charm after a numbing spell missed his head and he was able to see past it for an opening.

Five points to Slytherin, five to Gryffindor.

Felicaino's first actual opponent of the tournament was a Gryffindor girl from their potions class, one of the few not-Weasleys Feliciano could think of and who sniffed harshly in his direction when they walked next to each other up onto the platform. On the next table and separated by another magic-absorbing barrier was David Baker from Hufflepuff and a Ravenclaw boy.

Creevey had them bow, and Feliciano forgot about his brother and Scotland watching when a disarm curse came zinging towards him. His weight was shared over both feet but he swung his right foot back and out, carrying himself around in a full spin so he could slam his heel back onto the platform for stability and let his wand flick and flash several times between his fingers.

He had to duck from another disarm spell waiting for his to take effect, and then two loud, brilliant bangs of white light went off in rapid succession. Once at her feet, then up in front of her chest. He thrust his wand again and there was the clatter of her wand hitting the floor when his charm ripped it from her hand.

Another five points for Slytherin, and about thirty seconds later five points were awarded to Hufflepuff when Baker's match ended with the Ravenclaw boy taking a tumble off the edge of the table.

Second year matches were mostly about two things: falling off the platform and being stunned by the crowd more than the spells. Feliciano cheered and then held back an opinion when Charles and Albus squared off, began trading jinxes and hexes in a flurry, and then the match suddenly ended when instead of getting hit with something Charles's foot slipped after he launched his best laughing jinx and he vanished with a yelp beyond the edge of the platform. It was disheartening, because Albus was forced all the way to his knees, arms wrapped around his belly and tears in his eyes because he was laughing so hard from the jinx. It was a win by technicality, not skill, and it made Feliciano a little disheartened when the boy came back to the bench with a sullen look on his face while Creevey kindly removed the jinx from Potter so he could sit and regain his focus.

Feliciano should have been nicer to Baker, but Higgs' loss annoyed him and, when a coin-toss gave him first strike against his classmate, Feliciano felt like being more of a dick.

"Hey, David, remember what you called me in class that time?" They weren't close enough for Feliciano to use his first name, but physically they were when they mounted the platform together right before going to their respective places. The Hufflepuff looked confused.

Until about two minutes later, when Feliciano unleashed the emerald green body of a long cobra from his wand that went shooting at Baker's ankles so quickly he nearly _jumped_ off the table, never mind falling.

Apparently summoning a badger was just a little too much to expect a twelve year old to counter him with.

The second year portion of the tournament was speeding to an end because they weren't the main attraction. The most Feliciano or Potter could win for their houses was a grand total of twenty points. They were the pre-show, the warm-up, distraction while the real competitors in their seventh year robes reviewed counter charms from NEWT exams and attempted OWL level wand techniques.

So there wasn't much fan-fare at all as Feliciano and Albus Potter climbed up one more time after Feliciano declined to take a break before fighting again.

"Albus."

"Yes, Vargas?"

"I just want to say I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"There's just something really important I have to tell your brother."

Albus looked at him with wide green eyes and a curious tilt of the head, obviously the boy didn't understand, but he also got a very tight look around his eyes that showed he didn't really trust what he was hearing either. When Potter extended his hand, Feliciano was glad to shake it even if it didn't feel every friendly between them.

"You can tell him yourself after our match. Just don't go counting your points before they're won." It was such a shame that Albus Potter had to have such an awful brother, but Feliciano just took his place again at the end of the platform, bowed, and waited.

He leaned out of the way of Albus' first disarm spell, pivoting when a runny nose curse zipped past him in the air. There was a confused pause when he didn't fire back, and then a gust of wind from Potter's wand was countered by a thinner, faster breeze from Feliciano's wand tip. He really wanted to avoid elemental magic though: they were too draining.

Dodging was easy though. Potter couldn't leave his little red box, so even the fastest spells that Creevey had taught them needed a certain amount of time to reach him: always enough that Feliciano could move from corner to corner of his green space, he could twist and turn and usually not even lengthen his stride all that much.

The only time he caught a glimpse of Lovino was to see his brother holding a hand up in Scotland's face telling him to stop fucking trying to say something right now.

"What are you doing!?" The only time Feliciano's wand touched a spell was a particular jinx that just had too wide a berth for him to comfortably lean out of the way, so it slammed the floor after his wand grabbed, redirected and released it over the edge of the platform.

Albus Potter was panting at the other end of the platform, his stamina dangerously low as he started leaning forward like he was about to rest his hands on his knees. But he kept going.

Another jinx, another hex, the same charm three times that Feliciano walked away from. When he could see the exhausted sweat and the frustration burning in Albus Potter's eyes, Feliciano finally answered him.

"You want to fight me, Gryffindor?"

"_Yes! That's the whole point!"_

And Feliciano waited again, but it was just a beat this time. He looked down at where his wand was resting in his grasp, made up his mind, and looked up again with a shrug.

"Have it your way."

And then his wand started moving. The tip painted a star pattern down next to his leg and then flicked it straight out, drawing another star and another, each one coming together faster than the rest and not launching with the proper stance to guide them, just wild shots that all went screaming in the same direction and the general target. It left the lower right corner of the Gryffindor attack square open and that was where Potter, alarmed by the barrage of body-bind curses, dove to get away from them.

He fell right in the way of a laughing curse like Higgs', and then the red wash of a stunning spell that clamped his lungs shut when his body involuntarily began wheezing all of its air out in a choked laugh.

They were both first year charms.

But they weren't meant to be used like that.

Albus only kept his feet for a second or two before hitting his knees and crossing his arms over his chest, wand still in his hand as he opened his mouth wide and choked on the spells. Whatever air he took in was immediately forced out by laughter he couldn't control, but his chest was stunned and the muscles refused to expand or contract so he could breathe.

So he just... didn't breathe.

He fell straight to the floor and one of his legs gave a struggling kick. Feliciano was counting.

Six seconds... seven seconds... eight seconds...

"Vargas?"

Nine and... ten.

"_Expelliarmus!"_

Albus Potter's wand went flying from his hand and the match was over. In the same breath he released the laughing charm and Professor Creevey's wand was already dealing with the stunning spell. Albus gave such a deep, resounding gasp and then broke into a coughing fit, flat on his face on the table and shaking where he tried propping himself up on his elbows.

Maybe it was bad form, but instead of watching him Feliciano turned around and spotted the Gryffindor competitors in their seats. Specifically, next to Albus' empty spot he found James Potter's flushed face, teeth bared and air wheezing through his clenched teeth. He looked ready to commit a murder.

Feliciano just spread his hands, inclined his head in a mock bow, and then went back to deal with Albus.

Like he had the day before with his other matches, Feliciano cast the summoning charm on his opponent's wand and caught the magical tool from the air when it came. He carried it across the platform so he could offer a hand to its owner and help Albus, willing or not, to get up to his feet.

"Why- Why the hell did you _wait?_" Potter had spit and tears on his face, most of it just a reaction to the choking as Feliciano pulled a Slytherin handkerchief from his pocket and offered that along with the wand. Albus probably wasn't paying attention because he accepted both tokens so readily, wiping his face off. He was still shaking, but Feliciano couldn't find it in him to regret the technique. There were plenty of more painful spells that Creevey _hadn't_ taught them.

"I forgot the spell."

"_Liar._"

"Do you want the real reason?" Stitching a smile to his face, Feliciano happily took the handkerchief back when Albus was done with it and slipped it back into his robe pocket, his wand humming contently up its sleeve after winning the match. Albus didn't answer with words, he just watched Feliciano's face carefully and seemed to sense what it was England was always complaining about: Feliciano was too two-faced to take lightly.

"You finish your matches like lightning, why'd you wait with me? What's-" Albus stumbled and stopped his question, but Feliciano heard it anyways: what did James have to do with this?

"Are you two ready to shake or not?" Creevey was there at the edge of the platform before Feliciano could answer, and he didn't know how well he could make his point with a professor standing right there. "It's ten points to Slytherin for that display, Vargas. I'm not quite sure I approve, but I think Potter will agree it was effective." Albus looked uncomfortable with the idea, but Professor Creevey wasn't done. "Albus, give a wave to your mum before she has a fit."

They did shake on it, sportsmanship where Feliciano knew he'd displayed none. But he'd made his point and that plus the point prize made him feel vindicated. As long as he wasn't forced to do it again, everything would carry on just fine.

That satisfied buzz lasted until he and Albus were taking the steps down together, because Feliciano was forced to stop when James Potter appeared on the first step directly in front of him and refused to move.

"James _don't._" Albus hissed at him, embarrassed by the sound of Professor Creevey kicking up a few comments about the matches behind them to cover up how long it was taking to transition from the second to the third year matches. The three of them were still suck on the steps until James made a surprising move: he offered Feliciano a handshake.

"So you won, Snakeskin." He almost didn't accept it when he heard the insult, but decided to be the bigger man and get a firm grip on the older Potter's palm and wrist. "Don't go getting a big head about it."

Feliciano regretted the handshake before James pulled his stunt, because he'd felt that tension on his arm before and he knew what was going to happen as soon as the boy in front of him braced his weight. Feliciano's shoes lost their grip and his tiny body wasn't strong enough or in the right position to counter. His wand hand was used to tear him straight off the steps and he slammed the floor in a tumbling roll, almost going face-first but tucking his head and shoulders so he slammed his back and skidded on his tail-bone until he was in front of the bench of Hufflepuff competitors.

"_James-!_"

Feliciano looked up when the Hufflepuff he'd landed in front of suddenly stood, and he was shocked when he saw David Baker standing there with an affronted, almost angry look on his confused face where he was staring at the Potter brothers. The Hufflepuffs had just had the best view of the throw, and while Baker didn't say anything, Feliciano heard noise building from further down the hall when someone _else_ stood up.

Pascale Zabini was on his feet, badges gleaming and eyes locked on the Potter boys where Albus was hurrying straight to his seat again and James was up on the platform without a look back. Creevey had his back on the student body and the teachers at the head table probably hadn't seen anything with Albus in the way. From the parents' side, it must have looked like he'd tripped.

_"Zabini! Zabini! Zabini!"_ It started out slow and then it built into a chant, one Zabini himself broke off with a sweep of his arm towards the Slytherin seats before beckoning Feliciano to hurry back to his seat next to Higgs.

"That was bloody terrifying what you did to Potter." Charles was in awe and someone on the benches behind him reached out and gave him a firm clap on the shoulders for winning the second year final.

"Maybe, but I don't think it got my point across." The third year matches started up with a roar and boom from James Potter's wand, and Feliciano just sat their stewing while the anger he'd riled up in Albus' brother blasted a Hufflepuff classmate of his right off her feet.

"Well you set Hufflepuff straight, take a look at Baker."

So Feliciano did, and right as the Hufflepuff benches were grimacing at a back-blast spell that tumbled the third year girl off the platform, eyes here and there kept swinging around to find him where he was sitting. David Baker himself even squirmed back a little when Potter left the platform to Gryffindor cheers, catching Feliciano's eyes with an uncomfortable look on his face. He nodded in Potter's direction, gave an ugly shake of the head, and then settled back in to watch the rest of the tournament.

Feliciano, content with that, polished his Zabini badge with the edge of his sleeve and settled down to do the same thing.

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	27. Insincerity

**Snakeskins Playlist**

**Aaaah, year 3 has been going really slowly which is sort of why I stumbled and stopped the updates over here- I apologize! Since I've slowed down on the tumblr updates I think I'll just let the FFN version catch up even before I finish year 3. I'm on chapter 37 over there and still just barely about to reach Christmas of year three…**

**Thanks for the wonderful support over here though! I'm flattered with the new readership!**

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_**Snakeskins**_

Insincerity

One hundred points to Slytherin was the only thing that finally, after almost an hour and a half of year-by-year duels, got Arthur's blood pressure under control.

Seventh years knew to hold nothing back. They were still children in Arthur's eyes, but they were standing right on the cusp of adulthood and for them there was more than just house points on the line.

The Ministry's Head Auror was in the crowd, and any Hogwarts Student who had any hopes of entering the law enforcement branch of the Ministry of Magic put their absolute best on display in the hopes of catching his eye. Arthur wasn't so sure nearly disfiguring Harry Potter's niece in the final round would help garner the kind of attention the competitors wanted, but Pascale Zabini almost did exactly that when he dug his heels into the rubbery surface of the platform and controlled a fluid stream of liquid fire from the end of his wand. He held on until the steam from one of the Weasley daughter's attempts to use water forced her to back away and ultimately jump from the platform to safety.

The grand prize of one hundred additional points to Slytherin, the supreme satisfaction of watching Zabini come out on top as Prefect, Head Boy, and Hogwarts Duelling Champion finally made Arthur let go of his anger while the Slytherin students to absolutely exploded with excitement.

"_ZABINI! ZABINI! ZABINI!_" They stomped their feet, clapped their hands, and chanted his name in time with each other, causing such a roar that it was impossible to tell what passed between Zabini and one of the eldest Weasleys when he crossed the platform and quietly knelt down to see the burns on her face.

Professor Malfoy was there at once to administer treatment of course. His presence freed Zabini up to stand at his full height, let himself smile a little bit and then grin all the way as Professor McGonagall's voice announced him as the full and fair winner. She delivered the points while the Head Boy bowed once to the applause (and roars) of the school, then turned and gave a noble bow to the assembled parents and family members. It was the highest possible note Arthur could think of for Zabini to end his Hogwarts career on.

However, despite the fairy tale ending, that did not all together forgive or negate what had happened an hour earlier on the same platform where Zabini was accepting his praise and preparing to step down.

Professor McGonagall manipulated the crowds with her next bit of speech to clear space on the staggered bleachers so they could come apart and transform back into two of the house tables, dishware and cutlery quickly flying from some unknown entrance to the kitchen and setting themselves in high stacks and ordered bunches. Food would be delivered shortly for snacking and staving off hunger after the main event, for now, students and parents were free to wander and mingle as they wished.

Arthur wandered right up behind Italy with more than a few choice things to say that would need somewhere dark and private to come out properly, but was immediately blocked by every other damned Slytherin in their year, not to mention several upperclassmen and every bloody first year too boot. The lot of them only wanted one thing, and that was to congratulate him.

"Excellent show!"

"You really put the fear in Potter!"

"Where'd you learn to do something like that? You used a _laughing_ charm!"

Yes yes praise him later. For a twelve year old the display had been well worth the attention he was getting. For a grown nation, Arthur was fighting with his own rage again.

Because how _dare_ he.

How dare he suffocate a child in front of England. How dare he use excessive force. To stop Albus' breathing was one thing, but to then _leave him_ like that instead of ending the duel immediately was just-

Arthur was beyond words for it. He couldn't unclench his hands or his teeth, he wanted to just take Italy by the scruff and shake him until the other nation knew exactly what he'd done.

As outraged as Arthur Kirkland was however, there was someone else who managed to not only part the crowd, but enact justice on Italy first.

He did it with the pink flare of a laughing jinx, the red sting of a paralyzing curse, and then the counter-spell that removed the laughter as soon as Italy's lungs were involuntarily emptied and left him with no air and a young body that stood stock still and in obvious pain in a crowd of very frightened children.

"_Move."_

"That ain't yer wand, Vargas!"

Italy raised his wand and was disarmed with enough force that there was smoke left between his fingers, clutching his hand where the hex burnt him as he fell to one knee still unable to breathe. The second years swept away as the man in all black robes and draped in fury threw something back over his shoulder with the light clatter of wood on stone.

"Take it back then!" South Italy growled, Arthur just barely able to see Scotland scowling and going after the wand Italy's brother had obviously taken from him for the attack.

South Italy's display hadn't drawn everyone's attention, but more and more Slytherins built a circle around the pair as North Italy started shaking from the strain of not breathing and South descended on him like a hawk.

"You can't breathe? Of course not, but your heart isn't pounding and the adrenaline isn't driving you insane." South Italy slipped smoothly into Italian and he spoke quickly, it was hard to follow his words but Arthur was focusing hard on it as Lovino Vargas swiftly closed the gap between him and his brother. "Have you lost your god-damned mind? You can sit there calmly because you know I'm not going to kill you! You know how long that spell can last and you know what it's like to pass out because someone is choking the life out of you! _He doesn't!_"

As soon as South Italy came within striking distance North moved, planting both hands hard on the hall floor and swinging his legs out to try and sweep his brother's feet out from under him. He had no air to reinforce his gut with and his range just wasn't enough, because South stepped over the strike with one foot and the other-

It wasn't a full-power kick, but it was still a grown man catching a boy's mouth against his foot and forcing him over to skid across the floor, strength rapidly draining as Italy's fingers clawed at the floor and his lips were going blue.

"_Enough!_"

Scotland's voice and then a light from his wand that reversed the curse and let Italy suck in a deep, desperate breath of air. Arthur didn't know where to look because his brother took South Italy by the shoulder and hissed at him loud enough for the crowd of students to hear.

"You're in public, you damned Italian!"

"Yes, I'm in public." South Italy answered, not even bothering to lower his voice. "Because in Italy we discipline our children when they do wrong, we don't cover it up and pretend nothing's the matter."

There was a bolt of tension that fired between the two of them and Arthur didn't think about going towards Italy, he walked straight across the open space and went to stand next to Scotland. When Scotland didn't fire back at him and cause even more of a scene, South Italy turned and barked again at his brother.

"_Get up!_" He might as well have said it in English because there was no mistaking the command. Italy was on his knees with the edge of his sleeve up against his chin where he'd been kicked. He was still breathing hard and shaking a little, but at the order he started shuffling to his feet. "Don't act like you're hurt, even for someone your size I didn't kick that hard."

"Says you." Italy answered petulantly in English and then stood up slowly, wobbling slightly before getting his balance back. He squinted hard at the floor and then started looking around, letting his hand fall from his face where a bruise was forming and there was blood staining his lips and teeth. He was looking for his wand.

"You have an apology to make."

"You're not even going to wait for my side of this, are you?" One of the first years was able to run Italy's wand back to the circle, Scorpius taking it from the smaller child and then boldly stepping forward with Higgs to flank Italy and give it back.

"_There are no sides!_" South shouted, and then gestured sharply, ignoring both boys, for North to step forward and follow him.

The next thing the taller, darker brother said came in a low and grave voice, his words not so fast but grinding harshly over each other like heavy stones. Arthur didn't get a single word of it because South Italy broke from standard Italian completely, fleeting through Latin sounds without resting on a form Arthur could piece together or hope to understand. But North Italy understood it, in fact he even jumped a little and his young face broke open with a kind of stunned wonder that made him actually seem as small as he claimed to be.

South Italy didn't linger after that, he simply turned and swept away with the deep flutter of his black robes. North Italy barely acknowledged his young friends or Arthur himself before quickly hurrying after him, leaving the circle of classmates to collapse as students went to find parents and friends came straight up to Arthur with jaws flapping.

"He's _awful!_" Scorpius gagged, looking like he was speaking around a Bertie Botts vomit-flavoured bean.

"No wonder Vargas didn't care about him coming," Higgs was right up there next to Scorpius, a white look on his face as he shook his head so fast in the Vargas' retreating direction that it made his cheeks tremble and shake. "I'd have stayed in bed if my dad was like that! And he _won!_"

"Can you imagine if Potter'd beat him?" The two of them were running out of breath trying to get the hysteria out of their systems, Arthur raised his hands to make them cut it out but Scorpius just kept going. "He kicked him in the _face_ for winning! What- that's _insane!_ That's like my dad giving me detention for catching the snitch!"

"Alright- _alright,_ that's enough, boys." Scotland brought his voice up just enough to say what Arthur had been gunning for, and there was a very odd sense of comfort that came from just slinking into his brother's shadow so Scotland could handle things plainly instead of stopping to pick and choose his words. "No one ever said the older Mister Vargas was a nice man, but he does know his own strength and you're countin' your friend out if you don't think he can handle a bit of rough handling."

"But Mister Kirkland-!"

"No _buts_ Mister Malfoy, and you, Mister... Mister I don't recall. What's your name, boy?"

"Charles Higgs, sir. I'm one of their friends."

"I got that part: no buts from you either!"

Charles and Scorpius looked absolutely put out by this, standing there sulking for a few moments while Arthur looked up with something to say and suddenly noticed his brother giving a shocked look way over the crowd of students.

"Scott?" Not the name they'd agreed on but the first thing that rolled off Arthur's tongue. It made Scotland jump a little where his fingers were plucking hard at the narrow end of his short red beard.

"Alright I'll tell you what you boys _can_ do instead." He said quickly, just about to crouch down at eye-level with the three of them. Was that _fear _in his voice? "You can open your eyes up big and wide, look as damned innocent as you can and pretend none of what just happened ever happened at all, you hear me?"

"What?"

"Why?" Higgs wanted a reason but Scorpius was proactive enough to look around and find it. Arthur followed his gaze and didn't _have_ to see the grin Scorpius came back with.

"When mum finds out what he did to Feli she'll have a _fit_." Because lo and behold Mrs. Malfoy was _storming_ across the great hall floor towards them, except that wasn't at all the word for such smooth and even strides that made the green of her robes hold their shape around the white body of her suit and pencil skirt. She was a healer and a healer's wife, a Slytherin mother and on an absolute war-path towards them.

"That's why she's _not_ gonna find out and you're gonna take a whole galleon each to keep your mouths shut."

"Two galleons."

"Done!"

Higgs could have called for ten a piece and Scotland would have agreed, because as soon as he said yes he straightened up with a smile and swept forward with Scorpius under his arm like a shield.

"_Mrs. Malfoy_."

"Mister Kirkland." The body language and smiles were impeccable, plenty of teeth, happy tilt of the head, and an adoring look from mother to son as Scorpius was gaily passed between the two adults and looked baffled by their strange behaviour. "There's such a strange whisper going through the crowd about the elder Mister Vargas? I thought you said he wouldn't be coming to today's event..."

"A bit of a scolding, Mrs. Malfoy, but nothing like what the kids think they saw. Italians ain't exactly known for their tact." He answered the hard question and avoided the easy one, poor show, Scott. He did recover though: "And I can't quite say what changed his mind about the tournament. Yesterday he was adament that he was too busy but this morning he showed up on my doorstep ready to go with a piss-poor look on his face."

The chatter continued and eventually brought the Higgs family and Professor Malfoy over to join them. Charles and Thomas Higgs were happy to introduce their parents to Scotland, which gave Arthur every reason to fear that he'd been packaged up and shipped off to one of his friends' houses again this summer as he had last year.

"Quidditch's your passion then, Tom?"

"It is, sir. I've got an invite to the Wigtown Wanderers training camp this summer."

"Excellent! You should be proud of both your boys then, Mister and Mrs. Higgs."

"Have either of you two seen Gamp?" The question struck him and Arthur asked the two boys under the watchful eye of their parents. Charles barely understood the question but Scorpius straightened up and started peering this way and that through the chattering crowds.

"That's weird." The blond child murmured. "She was sitting next to me during the tournament."

"Maybe she's with her mum?" Charles offered instead, but then broke into a troublesome grin. "Or off with Myrtle again, after all it's her fault-"

Scorpius gave the other boy such a sudden smack on the arm that it got Professor Malfoy's attention, and through the mess of scoldings and foul looks that came down on the three of them for it, Arthur never did figure out what Gamp was at fault for.

Childhood really was a very bothersome state of being.

* * *

"You're taking this too seriously."

"We're gonna have a talk and you'll see how fucking wrong you are."

But first, Feliciano had to whine and scuff his feet over the floor as he followed Lovino through the weaving crowd until they were right on the edge of red robes and doubtful looks. He groaned a little bit when Lovino didn't stop and they both plowed straight through the clusters of Gryffindor parents and students, going further until they reached the last family sect Feliciano wanted to be caught near.

"Mister Potter." Feliciano saw Albus first, then James, then Rose, and then he was confused by too many faces he did and didn't know. Weasleys of every height and combination were walking around each other and talking, some old enough to be students but not yet, others too old to be students and standing by proud parents and younger siblings.

Harry Potter was a name Feliciano had known during the Wizarding War twenty years ago, but like most things not happening under his influence the specifics faded with time and the catalogues of his memory pushed useless information like that out of reach.

Mr. Potter wasn't a very tell man, but not too short either. He had a stocky, well-built look to him, and a good quality brown tweedy suit under his red-washed robes. The outfit sported gold edges and a pattern of lions across two panels that went straight down from his shoulders, clashing a little bit with his green eyes and at odds with the messy tangles of his short black hair.

"My name is Lovino Vargas, my younger brother is the one responsible for that vulgar display against your son." Harry Potter was a severe man though, and his smile looked like he forced it when he accepted Lovino's handshake and explanation for them coming up so boldly to introduce themselves.

Feliciano had to apologize to Mr. Potter, and then Mrs. Potter when she stepped up next to her husband curiously with a little girl who was clearly Albus and James' sister. Of course he had to ask the little girl to forgive him for treating her brother harshly, and Feliciano was resigned to his fate when Weasleys started cropping up and there was a grandmother and several uncles standing around him.

Albus himself looked like he wanted to crawl under his father's robe and never be seen or heard from again. His ears were bright red, hands fidgeting nervously, and when James started laughing under his breath the middle Potter child finally lost his cool.

"I'm not made of paper, gran!" But instead of hiding, Albus stomped right out in front of Feliciano and tried to get over his embarrassment. "I was scared, I'll admit, but you apologized after it was done and I believe you."

Albus offered a hand to Feliciano this time and he shook it, silently impressed the way he always was whenever Albus Potter was faced with a choice and consistently made the better one.

"It's fine," Albus insisted as he let go of Feliciano'shand. "There are no hard feelings: I promise."

"Then please excuse us for interrupting." Lovino set a hand on Feliciano's shoulder and it was the permission he'd been waiting for, relieved by the gentle tug that told him to nod to the Potters and turn to follow his brother away.

"Ah- Mister Vargas." But then they had to turn right back around when a woman called them. "A moment, please." Albus's mother had a hand on her husband's elbow and went from looking at Lovino before giving her husband a brief glance, then spearing one of her children with a very firm glare.

James Potter writhed in his own skin.

"Mom no-"

"Oh, that's a good idea, Ginny!" An older witch, white hair spun with red strands and curled around her smiling face lit up as something jumped between them. Her robe was bright red and spotted with gold sunflowers, a matching sunflower bag clutched in her hands as she sent a scolding look at James Potter, finger raised and wagging in time. "Yes, James! You come forward right now."

"But _Gran-_!"

"No, I think that's a fair idea." His mother, grandmother, _and_ father all agreed to it and Feliciano was struggling to keep down the grin as James Potter was made to march out and fight with himself in a huff. The side Feliciano didn't like won out in the end.

"You pulled a dirty trick on my brother so I did one back on you. I'm not sorry for it at all."

"_James!_" Mrs. Potter hissed his name and James had the strength to stand there, back-straight, and glare at Feliciano while Lovino kept his hand firmly on his shoulder.

"Mister Vargas." Mr. Potter stepped around the sudden scolding and dark looks from his family around his son, addressing Lovino directly where his brother didn't say anything. "He doesn't understand, but I do, so please accept my apologies." Feliciano was _not_ used to needing his brother to do business on his behalf, it was aggravating to watch Potter extend a hand over Feliciano's head that obviously wasn't meant for him.

"Your apologies for watching your son throw my brother to the ground, or your apologies for that same boy showing how desperately he lacks common decency?" Lovino bit back fast and hard, Feliciano's eyes watching as James was given grief by his mother, brother and grand-mother before Lovino's fingertips dug into his shoulder. "_Veneziano-_"

His name was snapped and Feliciano turned immediately to vanish behind the black cloud of his brother's robe, very, very happy with the way things had just turned out.

The promised food was appearing from the kitchens now but Lovino didn't stop walking, the two of them marching past other clusters of families, groups of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws and strangers all mingling and speaking happily. For one brief moment, Feliciano thought he saw David Baker and the Finnigan twins hurrying to say something to him, but then they saw Lovino and all three Hufflepuffs braked hard and stepped out of the way to meld back into the crowds.

"I'm going to ask you a serious question, and I expect an honest answer." Lovino didn't bother speaking English and Feliciano appreciated it, the two of them exiting the noise and crowds of the Great Hall. Lovino's sense of direction failed him immediately, but Feliciano knew the castle well and chose which way to go. Sunlight and windows meant taking a left turn and going up a flight of stairs. They didn't wander too far from the hall, but the place where they stopped was private enough with a clear view across the grounds down to the forest and the lake. "When was the last time you took that charm off like I asked you to?"

"Ah-" Ah was not the answer Lovino wanted, and when his brother turned to look down at him instead of out the windows, Feliciano knew this was going to be a lot harder than his apologies to the Potters. "Lovino I can't. There's no privacy in this castle! The showers, the baths, the beds, it's all communal!"

"Take it off now."

"And get _caught?_ No!"

"_This is not a game!_" It shocked him when Lovino put both hands on his face, warm fingers brushing his hair back and thumbs stroking under his eyes. His brother knelt down in front of him and Feliciano mimicked him, bringing them to almost the same height again so they could see eye to eye. The green of Lovino's gaze was shaking though, pupils snapping back and forth while staring at him, flecks of yellow and brown appearing and mixing the colours together under a fan of dark lashes. "I was the one who got lost last time and _I'm not losing you!_"

Feliciano jumped and then threw himself forward, locking his arms around Lovino's neck and putting his head down against the familiar scent of churned earth and dusty office paper. Under the scent of aftershave and cologne there was a spiciness to his skin like fresh tomato vines, familiar strength in the way he hugged back with both large hands swallowing Feliciano's shoulders. Being this small and getting an embrace this full, it was almost like when their grandfather had been alive instead...

"But I'm fine- _Lovino_, I'm just fine..."

"You _hurt_ a child today, Veneziano." Lovino dropped his voice until he was whispering, breaths passing over Feliciano's ear as he closed his eyes and let the hug continue to linger and last. "You didn't just fight him, you _hurt_ him. You made him an example."

"But I know I did." Lovino let go and made him shuffle back so they could see each other again, hands on Feliciano's shoulders as he explained. "And I didn't lose my temper, I was counting down too and I knew exactly how long-"

"You suffocated a _child,_ Veneziano_..._ Let that sink in." But... he didn't _want_ to linger on it. "You were cruel and his brother defended him, that's a non-issue: I would have done the same and you're not half as fragile as a _human child.__**"**_

"Lovino..."

It led to another hug, not as desperate this time but just as wanted, one that grew tighter and warmer in a steady spiral of breaths.

"Don't become that person again," Lovino whispered. "This isn't a game and I won't give you up without a fight."

"I'm fine. I promise there's nothing wrong with me..." He promised and he hugged a little tighter, remembering something else worth saying as Lovino slowly started to relax his grip again. "What made you decide to come today? To warn me about this?"

"Fuck no." They did let go of each other again, stopping so they could bump noses and then foreheads for a moment, affection coming easily after spending too long apart. It was really, really nice to see Lovino smile after being so serious. "I came here hoping to watch Kirkland kick your ass and that be the end of it until you pulled that shit on Potter."

"Gee, thanks." So why'd he come? Lovino didn't ignore the question; he just reached inside the breast pocket of his black robe and pulled out the straight white edge of an envelope.

"_This_ arrived yesterday afternoon when I was in the middle of a fucking meeting." It was Hogwarts stationary and addressed to _"Mr. Vargas, somewhere in London."_ before Lovino's wrist snapped it away so Feliciano couldn't read it.

"Who's it from?"

"None of your business who it's from."

"Oh come on, let me see it!"

"It's not for you!"

Lovino waved the letter in his face and then extended his arm up when Feliciano made a grab, laughing at him when he swung his hand out behind him when another swipe missed the letter. Feliciano was on his feet and ready to just _climb_ over his brother when with a light snap and a flick of his wrist the paper vanished.

"Hah!"

"That was magic!"

"No it wasn't."

They bickered all over again until Lovino went into another pocket of his robes and pulled out a familiar blue and gold-spangled drawstring bag.

"That's Scotland's, isn't it?"

"Yes it is now shut up." Lovino spread the bag's mouth open and reached inside, his arm vanishing almost all the way to his elbow before he found what he was looking for and withdrew first one, then a second small crystal wine glass and set them on the floor between them. Feliciano had to hold his breath to keep from gasping or saying anything, bouncing on his haunches and quickly looking back and forth to make sure no one was about to interrupt them.

"Is it one of yours or one of mine?"

"I'm not telling you." There was the illicit pop of a wine bottle somewhere deep inside the bag and, without properly taking it out of the satchel where they could get into trouble, Feliciano was invited to lean forward and give it a sniff.

Ah-

The perfect medley of fruity notes, a dark red that smelled like it had been aging slowly to get the richness of the barrels to flavour it. He hadn't had wine since Christmas and eagerly watched Lovino try to get a handle on both the bottle and the bag so he could tip and pour a splash of wine into each glass. His hidden hands replaced the cork and with a quick gesture to say shut up and be quiet, they toasted and drank.

Feliciano was instantly betrayed, bereaved, and abhorred.

"_This-!_"

And his bastard brother was sitting there looking like he was about to burst trying not to smile and not _dare_ to laugh.

"Grape juice!?"

"How much trouble do you expect me to cause this school in one day?"

"_How dare you put __**juice**__ in an Amarone bottle!_"

Lovino was stifling so much laughter at his pain that there were tears building in his brother's eyes, but all Feliciano cared about was tossing himself hard against the wall under the windows to sulk and not look at him.

"Your face... your fucking face..."

"I'm never speaking to you again."

"Then just take this instead, asshole." Feliciano was offered a blue envelope from somewhere he didn't want to know about, and stared at it suspiciously like if he touched it the thing would turn into carrot sticks and baby crackers. "Don't open it until after your stupid exams are over with, understood?"

"Still not speaking to you."

"Oh cut it out."

His hair was ruffled and then a hard kiss was pushed down on the top of his head, both gestures affectionate enough that despite his convictions Feliciano ended up reaching out for one more hug. He really did hate saying goodbye, but that was what this was. He could feel Lovino getting ready to go just in the way he hung on through the hug and squeezed hard with another warning.

"Scotland was saying next year you'll be allowed to go into town at the base of the mountain. Promise me you'll take the charm off then."

"If I can find a safe place for long enough, then yes, I promise."

"I mean it, Veneziano."

"I mean it too."

"...Then I'll see you again at the end of June." And with that...

He was gone.

* * *

**Abarone is a kind of wine grape like Merlot or Zinphandel, it's mainly grown in the Veneto region of Italy.**

**I also can't decide if Lovino dumped the juice into the bag when cleaning up or if he just left two suspicious looking glasses of "wine" on the ground for Filch's replacement to find and be like "YOU FUCKING KIDS OOOOOH MY GOOOOOD". **

**Leave a comment down below and I'll be back with the next one soon!**


	28. Check the Name

**Young and Beautiful, Severus and Lily, Snakeskins Playlist.**

* * *

_**Snakeskins**_

Check the Name

Exams through May and June crept by so slowly Arthur almost invested in a new wrist-watch to verify how long everything took. A dash of adult conversation and a hint of the world beyond the school broke the illusion to pieces. He and Italy were both sullen and utterly inconsolable until the end of term.

Which meant they fit in just fine with all of their classmates.

Italy rode the minor high of his tournament win for the rest of May, but as soon as students stopped asking to see the small brass puck he'd been awarded for winning his bracket, he stopped pulling it out. It was a party favour and would probably in up in a box in a closet back in Rome.

It wasn't until June that Arthur noticed an odd change in Slytherin seating arrangements in lessons, because as he settled down in Transfiguration for Professor Parkinson's end of year exam...

"Mind you keep your damned flowers on _that_ side of the desk, Vargas," he drawled, not even looking at his partner until he heard a very wrong voice.

"Mind you keep your stuffy little nose on _your_ side as well, Kirkland." Arthur's head snapped up to show him Margaret Finnick giving him a bitter look with her gold hair pulled back in a loose pony tail instead of hanging full and curled around her heart-shaped face. Her blue eyes were bright and resentful, an eerie combination as Arthur looked around quickly searching for the idiot who was usually his partner. "Don't _bother._" She sniped.

Italy spent the transfiguration exam sitting next to Gloria Flint, which was a bizarre occurrence since if he wasn't sitting next to one of the boys, specifically Arthur, then he was always sitting next to Eliza. It was the first time all year that Charles had to suffer next to a Ravenclaw student, and he made a point of growling threateningly under his breath for the entire Exam to show how much he resented Scorpius for being a gentleman and snagging Eliza's hand so she wouldn't be the odd one out. They were all well aware of how nervous she got in Transfiguration, and Scorpius' act probably saved her grade for the year.

It was also very strange to see Flint and Finnick not going about arm-in-arm together for the whole lesson. The two girls did regroup and stalk off together after the exam, noses in the air and steps in perfect time as best friends always were, but the gap was strange none the less.

And then it happened again in Charms later that same week, leaving Mr. Baker from Hufflepuff at a loss because his usual partner had Miss Flint making a point of how much brighter her polishing charm worked than Italy's.

By the end of June with only Defense Against the Dark Arts left between them and summer vacation, Arthur was over his annoyance and was now plainly amused by the rest of his classmates. Specifically, he enjoyed watching the knives come out of all three children one afternoon in the library when, instead of simply joining their table as they might have last year, Miss Finnick and Miss Flint simply came and stole Feliciano away while they were in the midst of scrounging up possible answers to the written portion of Creevey's exam.

"Could you give us a hand, Vargas? The book we want is just a little too high."

"_Use a spell,_" Scorpius hissed under his breath, raking his quill down the same bit of parchment until the nib cut right through it.

But Italy loved being of use, and he enjoyed deluding himself into believing that he was helping bridge the gap between the other two Slytherins and the rest of their year. After he scampered off to answer some nonsense call to help find a foot-stool or use a simple summoning charm, Arthur took a look around the table in time to watch Eliza completely lose her temper and set Italy's abandoned quill on fire.

"D'you think he fancies her?" Charles asked, either pretending his IQ had suddenly dropped or otherwise completely losing track of his mouth. Arthur tried very hard not to laugh down over his essay as Scorpius rolled his eyes and Eliza gave a furious little squeak.

"_She_ fancies _him_ you lout." Scorpius told it plainly and Arthur just dipped his quill and kept writing. "She hasn't left him alone since the tournament."

"She's just waiting until he lets his guard down, and then before you know it he'll be chopped up into potions ingredients." Eliza had the most _vicious_ way of speaking when she was angry, leaving her wand and scribbling madly on her homework, even taking one of the textbooks she'd been sharing with Italy and slamming it shut without marking the page.

"Well the year's almost over, so you won't have to put up with it for much longer."

"_Us?_" Scorpius got on Arthur's case now where he'd neglected to write a single thing on his notes for the test. "He's _your_ best friend, isn't he? How many times have you been paired up with Hufflepuffs alone this week?"

"You forget that Baker and I scored perfectly in Charms."

The children were inconsolable, and when Italy couldn't figure it out on his own and asked right before their Defense class what the problem was supposed to be, Arthur just laughed it off and didn't bother telling him. They could have a merry chat about it over some nice wine or coffee after getting back into London tomorrow. After this test, there was the feast to consider.

He didn't regret this decision five minutes later when he looked around and Italy was confused by how quickly Miss Flint had taken hold of his hand with the obvious understanding that he would be _her_ partner for the final exam, not Arthur's.

He did feel a sense of apprehension when Scorpius and Higgs jumped to each other and Eliza was glared into being Finnick's partner.

But Arthur Kirkland almost had kittens on the classroom floor when he turned around and saw who his Gryffindor partner was.

"Kirkland."

"Miss Weasley."

The two of them, to Professor Creevey's delight, wound up scoring perfect marks in the class. But that grade was a conscious effort on Arthur's part because it took every ounce of will not to misfire one of his curses right at a certain Italian's stupid back.

"I'm not speaking to you again."

"Oh come on- not you too!" Yes him too stupid Italian.

That evening, Slytherin's hopes that maybe, _maybe_ they'd squeaked out a win with Zabini's tournament triumph were dashed, because last minute calculations and points awarded for perfect test results brought a horrifying truth. It didn't matter that Ravenclaw had cinched the Quidditch Cup again this year, they still came in third behind Gryffindor and Slytherin.

And by five measly points, Slytherin came in second. And they were five irrelevant points they wouldn't have won if Arthur hadn't boosted Rose Weasley's grade at the very last second because he petulantly hadn't wanted to see Flint and Vargas get the praise.

He spent the banquet under the table.

Quite literally under the table.

Scorpius grabbed him a pudding and handed it down to him where he was sitting on the floor, that was how far under the table Arthur stayed for the entire evening.

Italy joined him for a little bit, but when Zabini caught them he was forced to climb back out to the noise and red confetti of the Gryffindor win. Arthur was stubborn and stayed down until he looked back up through his spot on the bench and saw Zabini standing there with arms folded and badges glittering.

"Get up, Kirkland."

"I'd really rather not, sir."

And that was how the United Kingdom of Great Britain and North Ireland wound up taken by the scruff and dragged out of the great hall by an eight-teen year old boy.

"I won't have that kind of behaviour from someone like you, Kirkland, it's downright undignified." The Head Boy took him outside and around the corner from the great hall's entrance, a safe bit of stonework keeping him out of sight while Zabini, with no fear at all of being questioned, stood there tall and proud with hands on his waist.

"But Gryffindor only won because-"

"Gryffindor _won_, Kirkland because they performed better than us this year." Arthur hadn't expected to hear something so mature come from such a young man. "In the tournament last month only Vargas and I won our years for Slytherin, we didn't even have a fourth year competitor." Well, they _had_ competed but... not very well, no. "And as much as Tom tried we barely kept our head above the water in Quidditch. Those are the two biggest places to get the lead in house points and we gave them both up, so don't you dare act like you should be ashamed for making the effort to get points in the best way you know how."

"By sharing them with Rose Weasley?" Arthur answered, not sure where these petulant feelings were coming from, but somehow willing to let Zabini verbally beat them out of him.

"By earning them in the first place, Kirkland!" And the Head Boy wasn't about to spare him just because it was his last night in Hogwarts. "You scored perfect marks in almost every class this year, don't act like just because Hufflepuff has more students, or Ravenclaws pool their study time, or Gryffindors are just damned lucky that that means you're being overlooked! Binns likes you, Binns doesn't like _anybody_- so don't let five silly little points get in your way. You're a Slytherin so you'd better start acting like one: growth and renewal, Kirkland. Whatever hurts you now, I expect you to tear it off this summer and come back next year ready to show those other houses what these green robes are really about."

Arthur wasn't shocked by what he was hearing, he was stunned by who was saying it. Zabini's voice was emotional: it was pitched to make him believe, to make sure he didn't dare stop listening or feel like there was any way to deny what the young man was saying or how much he believed in it. He had charisma, and patience Arthur had recognized from day one. His tolerance for stupidity and cruelty were both outstanding, and his ceaseless drive to do better was worth the highest possible respect...

He was the best possible result after seven years of abuse, dismissal, and harassment for green robes. An internalized reaction to all the naysaying and teasing that lauded Slytherins and slimy and unwanted: he'd made himself _better _because he'd grown up hearing that he would always be _worse._

"...Thank you." And Arthur realized how much he'd needed to hear something like this, to witness the strength Zabini wasn't hoarding all for himself, but was desperately trying to pass on.

So tonight was the first time Arthur noticed something that should have struck him right away. On his breast were his Slytherin badge and silver P for Prefect. Where had his Head Boy badge gone...?

_Oh Lord..._

The answer came when the two of them shook hands and Arthur's palm didn't touch skin, it struck green velvet and silver embroidery. He jumped and tried to pull away, but Zabini held firm.

"I can't-" he stuttered. "I absolutely can't, Zabini no-"

"It won't _make_ you Head Boy, Kirkland, but after we reach London tomorrow the last of the magic will run out of it." No, no, no: this wasn't _his_, it wasn't meant for _him_. "You can give it back when _you_ make Head Boy, understood?"

Arthur didn't answer, there was a bloody frog in his throat as Zabini's hand slipped away and the Head Boy nodded firmly before striding off to go back to the feast and his friends. He'd get in trouble if he was caught out here all alone without Zabini's protection, but there was nothing for anyone to give or take away from him point-wise with the Gryffindors still chanting and the House cup sitting unseen on their table around the corner.

For the first time in two years Arthur couldn't blame the charm around his wrist for what he was feeling. Had he been in his normal body his knees still would have been weak, he still would have used both hands to cradle the Head Boy badge glittering in his grasp, and there probably still would have been the inevitable sting of tears touching his eyes as his mouth trembled. He was irrevocably torn between getting a damned grip on himself or just letting the moment have him.

Head and Prefect badges were very similar in terms of style, both were ridged with the house's accent colour, in Slytherin's case: silver. It was shaped after the Hogwarts shield with two snakes slithering down from the highest part of the shield, heads and tongues reaching around the engraved _P. Zabini_ at the bottom. There was a silver H and B for the rank's name, and a bed of emerald green velvet that made the lettering stand out. Written in minuet detail along the snake bodies was the founder's name, Salazar Slytherin, twisting around the silver.

The back side was solid silver, engraved with Hogwarts' proper crest, Zabini's full name, the date of issue, and the nearly-gone glyph of the truth curse placed on all Prefect and Head badges at Hogwarts. The phrase _Clever Cunning Ambition_ was also cut into the metal.

It took Arthur a long time to fall asleep after the other boys ate themselves into a coma and Italy pulled his curtains shut to try and make sense of the itinerary papers South Italy had sent him concerning his return to Rome. It wasn't a restless kind of wakefulness, just persistent.

Persistent like the constant glitter of the half-light off a memento that meant more than five measly house points...

Sadly, when he woke up the next morning to packed trunks and the chatter of going home, there was also the alarmed squeaking of Professor Malfoy's ferret Bella refusing to move and let students out of the Slytherin Dormitory. She even bit Miss Finnick's finger.

"Talk to the damned thing, Malfoy, you must know how to calm it down."

"First of all she's not an _it_ and second she isn't even _mine._"

The lot of them were holed up in the common room for nearly an hour, a curious whisper running through the girls and coming up from the ladies dorms before they finally saw Eliza looking shaken and completely miserable. She came up to the boys behind Finnick and Flint, who looked deeply pleased with themselves but said nothing. If Eliza tried telling anyone, the other two girls completely shut her down.

Finally, at quarter past eleven the ferret keeping them inside finally turned her back on the students, squeaked three times at the door and the common room entrance abruptly rattled and ground its way open. Professor Malfoy swept into the chamber looking exhausted, something none of the second or first years had ever seen, and when he spoke his voice lacked its usual clarity as he made his announcements briefly.

"An early lunch is being served to students in the Great Hall. You should hurry along while your luggage is delivered to the Hogwarts Express: the carriages will leave at noon sharp and you are all expected to be in attendance. That is all."

"Professor Malfoy!" Scorpius' father was ready to duck right out of the common room as soon as he finished speaking, but was forced to stop and turn around again when all eyes swung over to a distraught looking seventh-year girl. Arthur spied Zabini and the other seventh year boys hovering quite close to the rest of their classmates, but this girl stood alone. "Please, where is Margaret?"

Margaret Finnick wrinkled her nose, clearly annoyed to share a name with whoever was being discussed. Professor Malfoy, meanwhile, let the conflict show on his face before his expression hardened, grey eyes narrowing as he let off something like anger.

"If it concerns you so much Miss Baldrick then perhaps you should have kept a closer eye on her." Miss Baldrick looked like she was going to cry, but no one seemed to know enough to say anything before Professor Malfoy remembered something and looked sharply at the second years. Why was he so-? "Mister Vargas, follow me."

"_Me?_" Looking at Italy gave Arthur a clear view of Scorpius, who looked so pale it was a wonder he was still standing, but his stomach bottomed out completely when Italy was called. "But Professor I haven't-"

"The Headmistress asked for you by name, Vargas, I'm in no mood to have you argue with me." His end of the year debrief with McGonagall? Malfoy certainly wasn't being very subtle about it this time. Italy moved with the weight of the entire house watching him, and professor Malfoy didn't even give parting words to the rest of them before exiting the dormitory as suddenly as he'd come.

Bella the ferret scampered after them, and that was the end of Arthur's second year experience at Hogwarts.

* * *

Feliciano wasn't sure if he was supposed to talk.

He'd never seen Professor Malfoy so upset before. His white hair wasn't brushed properly and his robes, once Feliciano fell in step behind him, were wrinkled and the same ones he'd worn at the feast last night. It meant he probably hadn't slept...

There was no one in the dungeons as they walked, but even the hallways higher up were empty. Somewhere far away he thought he finally heard voices near the great hall, and Professor Malfoy walked him straight past Professor Longbottom at the head of a long train of angry Gryffindors. Some of the younger students were crying, or looked like they had been. The older ones were muttering as the Slytherins passed and Feliciano caught a murderous look from James Potter through the passing faces.

It looked like the other houses had all been locked up in their dormitories too...

They climbed higher through the castle and Feliciano tried to remember the way to Headmistress McGonagall's office. It was a confusing path that felt like it doubled back on itself several times, but eventually they reached a familiar gargoyle statue and Professor Malfoy stopped in front of it.

He _hesitated_, and then gave the password.

"The Portrait of the Fat Lady."

The stone gargoyle grunted and shook its head, then limbered up and stood so it could shuffle out of the way of the staircase leading up to the Headmistress' office. Before they even reached the unlocked door at the top of the stairs, Feliciano could hear weeping.

"_Please-! Please, Professor you can't!_"

"I certainly can, Miss Adams!'

"_I didn't do anything __**wrong**__ I swear it!"_

Professor Malfoy didn't hesitate, he grasped the doorknob and marched straight inside.

"You were the only student out of bed in the entire school. I have reports from all four heads of house and three house ghosts which say as much." Professor McGonagall was an empress in her chair, commanding the circular space of her busy office where portraits of Headmasters past were looming down dangerously to watch the clash between an ancient witch and a very young and very frightened one.

He'd heard her name before though...

"But that means you didn't ask the Baron, did you?" Feliciano didn't have much contact with the upper Slytherin students, so he only knew Miss Adams by face and probably had only heard her name a few times. She was sobbing uncontrollably with a green handkerchief held up to her face. "And I told you! I told you where I was! Don't make me say it again but I _told you!_"

"And Mister Sacamander denies your story."

"He- He _what?_"

"Thank you, Professor Malfoy." Professor McGonagall looked up from where Miss Adams slowly stumbled back and then fell into a wide chair in front of the Headmistress' desk, face buried in her hands and shoulders shaking with silent sobbing. "You may leave Mister Vargas here and escort Miss Adams down to Hogsmeade. She will be kept apart from the other students until she reaches London, and her parents will be waiting to pick her up from Platform Nine and Three Quarters. The final decision will be made by the end of today."

"Yes, Headmistress." Professor Malfoy's voice was so brittle it sounded ready to crack when he used it, silence stretching where only Miss Adams' tears could be heard. When she finally found the strength to stand again, face red and eyes unbearably raw from crying, she stepped around the chair only to stop and turn back to the headmistress, croaking out a simple question.

"M-My wand...?"

"I doubt you'll be needing it again, Miss Adams."

Feliciano's heart unwillingly broke when a life-ending sentence was passed and Miss Adams' face opened up with raw grief. She turned away from the Headmistress with eyes tightly shut and almost ran Feliciano over trying to reach Professor Malfoy, who instead of remaining cold and rigid let her run straight to him and find comfort in a brief, sobbing embrace where he stroked her hair quietly and it sounded like she screamed against his chest. By the time he managed to help her start taking the stairs down to reach the hallway again, the green looked like it was already leaching out of her robes...

He had to speak, and the duo hadn't gone more than two steps down before he found words.

"Maraget Adams." He repeated, turning to look at Professor McGonagall again where she gave him a surprised look for speaking so strangely. "The girl who was missing the night her dorm room's painting was killed?"

It was like firing shots in the air because of how fast Professor Malfoy stopped walking away and Professor McGonagall sat straight up as the words registered.

"Pardon me?" The Headmistress asked.

"Well, the night there was all that screaming, Professor Malfoy took down the gender charm and I kind of followed him." Stepping away from the stairwell so he could look down it at Professor Malfoy's stunned face and see the Headmistress's desk made things a little easier. "Sorry, Professor, but how could I resist? But I think you said that there were only four girls in the dorm instead of five. Wasn't Miss Adams the one who'd left?"

"The dungeons locked themselves shut as soon as the screams were heard." Professor Malfoy relayed, and the way he looked straight at Professor McGonagall answered a question Feliciano hadn't asked. All of this was happening over the paintings, and the student the teachers thought they'd caught in the act.

"A tinge of grey does not excuse black actions."

Feliciano felt himself get ready to say something at the same moment Professor Malfoy took a breath, but then they both stopped and looked right at each other instead. The professor couldn't speak in front of the student, and the Nation couldn't reveal himself in front of the professor.

But as much as Feliciano wanted justice for massacred art and an end to the terror in the school, he wound up speaking first.

"Check her fingernails."

"_What?_" Both witches and the wizard questioned him, Miss Adams still crying but pulling her hands up and staring at her fingers like she didn't understand. Professor Malfoy took one of her hands to take a look too, but they didn't know what they were looking for.

"Professor McGonagall, which painting was attacked last night?"

The headmistress didn't look like she wanted to answer him, but forced the words out.

"The Portrait of the Fat Lady, the traditional guardian of Gryffindor Tower."

"Was she scratched to death like all the others?"

"_How _can you know anything about that?" Professor Malfoy demanded harshly, and Feliciano looked at him with the biggest grin he could muster.

"Oh, I found the door back in February-"

"You _what!?_"

"See! See this is why I didn't want to tell anyone!" And then he promptly started backing up, because he'd really never ever seen Scorpius' dad look _that_ angry before. "I didn't do anything! I just flipped them over to look at the backs! Scratch marks on all of them!"

"_Draco._" Professor Malfoy wasn't losing control, but Professor McGonagall said his first name harshly and got his seething attention. When Feliciano looked at her the Headmistress had her head resting on the back of her chair, and with one hand she gestured over to a tall, covered rectangular frame that Feliciano had missed seeing thanks to all the attention on Miss Adams.

Professor Malfoy crossed the office immediately and started pulling off the grey tarp that had been flung over the mangled portrait. Underneath it was all grey and black paint, its face shredded and canvas ripped free. Professor Malfoy could have used magic to lift and turn the frame around, but he seemed in the mood to use his arms and his own strength, tilting it onto one corner and walking it until the back side was facing the rest of them. Professor McGonagall stood up and Miss Adams joined them as Feliciano walked up and pointed to a place high in the corner where the canvas had held up better.

"Nail marks."

"Miss Adams, make your hand into a claw shape, would you?"

Adams was confused again, clearly running on less sleep than Professor Malfoy. With permission from the headmistress, Feliciano took a blank sheet of parchment off McGonagall's desk and blew out one of the red wax candles resting there for light. He rubbed the melted wax hard over the paper, and then happily waved Adams over to him.

"Like this, pretend you're _really_ angry and just-!" Just scratch and claw at the paper. Adams was still crying, tears leaking down her face where she looked like she was at her limit, but she did was she was told, taking a few harsh, desperate moments before her face started twisting with anger.

"Sacamander..." she hissed. "You- You lying _troll!_"

She raked her nails over the paper horizontally like a cat, then took a glance at the Fat Lady's ruined canvas and mimicked the vertical drag of the fingernails that had done the damage. She cut and scratched until she wore away the wax, sobbing furiously when Feliciano took it away and Professor McGonagall moved to hold it up against the abused back of the painting.

They didn't match.

Adams' hand was too big, her nails too short, and the way she crooked her pinky finger made the cutting marks narrow down and come together at the end of each slash, not carry on straight down until the canvas gave out.

Professor McGonagall dropped the paper and her whole arm like they weighed fifty pounds, closed her eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath in through the nose.

"Miss Adams," the Headmistress' voice almost broke just saying the name. "You may collect your wand and proceed downstairs to breakfast in the great hall with the rest of your graduating class, while I-" She abruptly tore the wax-stained page in two, then four, then a dozen more pieces and let them fall to the floor, head bowed before she picked herself back up again and marched straight to her desk. "While I begin drafting my most sincere apologies for your family and the trouble this mess has caused."

"You mean I'm not-?"

"Facing last-minute expulsion and arrest? No, Miss Adams, and you have Mister Vargas to thank for that."

Feliciano was caught up in such a sudden, overwhelming hug that he completely missed what Professor Malfoy and the Headmistress had to say to each other. Adams caught him in such a fierce embrace that he almost couldn't breathe around her squeezing, the eighteen-year-old witch on her knees and sobbing her thanks to him and calling him such a wonderful, amazingly clever little boy and she'd never forget this and she'd make sure everyone in the school knew what he'd done for her.

"And that Sacamander!" She let go of him so hard Feliciano almost fell over. "Two years of sneaking around because _oh no!_ He couldn't be caught dating a Slytherin! Said everything would come out when we graduated- _well!_ Lets see him talk about it when I'm done with him!"

"So long as you don't end up back here, Miss Adams." Professor McGonagall gave her a light scolding that Adams barely heard, she was too busy thanking Professor Malfoy and remembering to bow deeply to the headmistress like she really was a queen. Somewhere in the midst of her dancing, her wand was returned to her hand.

"Yes- of course, I promise. May I just-?"

"Of course." Adams was gone in a flash, a happy, relieved sob fluttering back up the stairs as she vanished and the gargoyle shuffled out of her way so she could escape.

"Professor Malfoy you are also excused to go freshen up and get some rest. I can assure you, Mister Vargas isn't in any sort of trouble."

Professor McGonagall was focused on Malfoy, but Scorpius' father was staring at him instead. It looked like he was working very hard to figure out what he wanted to say, so Feliciano was patient enough to wait for him.

"I would take away twenty points for all of this rule-breaking, Vargas." Oh, that wasn't what he'd been hoping- "And then I'd give a hundred back for what you just did. Unfortunately, the House Cup has already been won this year. This means there's a debt to pay."

"Draco..." Professor McGonagall's voice was kindly, but almost weak. "What will young Scorpius think if you aren't there to see your house off? A terrible night is over."

Professor Malfoy really did look like he was about to fall asleep on his feet. His grey eyes seemed dull and he was swaying slightly where he was standing, his familiar draped over one of his shoulders and pawing absently at his chest and neck trying to keep its balance as he let his eyes close for a moment and turned the sleepy look into a nod.

"There isn't much time before the carriages leave, Mister Vargas, be brief if you can." And with another exhausted nod, Professor Malfoy turned and took the stairs down and out of the Headmistress' office, leaving Feliciano and Minerva McGonagall alone at last.

"You must think me such a fool." When he turned back to look at her, the Headmistress was worrying her fingers together in front of her, a fresh sheet of parchment unfurled on her desk and a long gold quill already resting in ink. She placed her wrinkled hands flat on the top of the desk to try and stop whatever shakes were running through her, and flicked a non-existent speck of dust off her paper. "Completely addled and unfit to teach anymore."

"Professor-"

"I called you here this morning to announce that the vandalism was dealt with and to tell you- although I gather you already _know_, that the body of Italian works destroyed this year at Hogwarts is an affront that will not be tolerated." Grasping her quill in one rigid hand, the Headmistress began letting black ink flow in neat, fluid strokes across the parchment, the light scratching sound showing how delicately she handled the nib despite her tense appearance. "I have never been so- so simultaneously _relived_ and yet _mortified_ at the same time. To think I almost snapped that poor girl's wand."

"Professor McGonagall..." Pausing to see if she'd interrupt him again, she didn't and he was free to speak. "Are there really no leads concerning these attacks?"

"Absolutely none."

"Do you really think so?" A new voice startled Feliciano so badly he jumped. "Oh!" It also made Professor McGonagall's head snap up. "I apologize, I should not have interrupted."

"Albus." What? No, it definitely wasn't Potter's voice: it was an old man with warm words and soft intonation. "Albus Dumbledore, you come back to your frame at once."

Professor McGonagall didn't even look up from her scratching and scribbling to give the command, and Feliciano watched as several other sleepy Headmasters and Headmistresses of Hogwarts were nudged a little in their frames as the speaker came back into view. He took up position directly across the office from Professor McGonagall's desk, taking a seat on an ornate chair that looked even more throne-like than the one behind McGonagall's desk.

Albus Dumbledore was like Harry Potter: a name Feliciano had once known and now could barely remember. The wizard in the portrait was old though; old beyond years with snowy white hair and a long beard merging into a long frizzy mane down his shoulders and front, blue and star-spangled robes with half-moon glasses perched on his long nose making him appear grandfatherly and kind.

The image of a long silver sword covered in brilliant red rubies made him seem a little less grandfatherly and much more formidable.

"What were you saying, Albus?" Professor McGonagall put her quill down and folded her hands together briskly, looking up as Feliciano was nodded towards the seat Adams had been crying in earlier. He twisted around so he could see both of them clearly and listened.

"Well, Minerva, speaking as a painting myself I can say that this morning's tragedy does shed some light on the issue. Perhaps our intrepid inquirer can help you uncover the truth." The nod in his direction made Feliciano turn back around in his seat with a question.

"Was he always this wordy?"

"_Always._" The headmistress allowed, then raised her voice. "Albus, it has been a long and exhausting night. Speak plainly if you would."

"Read the name, boy." _Boy?_ Feliciano was used to it from Professors, not paintings of which he was older than the techniques, nevermind the subjects.

But he did get up and he did walk back over to the Fat Lady's mangled portrait, kneeling down looking for the artist's name and...

"Black?" That... that was the least Italian name he could think of. "Every single one has been by an Italian artist, was the Fat Lady herself Italian?"

"Not to my knowledge, no." McGonagall answered, eyes narrow and mouth pulled into a sour line.

"The Venetian Gondolier, the Tiberian Nymphs..." Professor Dumbledore's painting started speaking again, rambling off names and characters from the deceased paintings. "The Tuscan Flower Girl, the Lovers of Milan, Bruticus the Barbarian..." Wait...

"Hang on."

"Mister Vargas?"

He put his hands on the mangled frame and tried to shift it, feeling the whole thing come off balance and jumping back with a yelp as the Fat Lady's portrait toppled over and crashed to the stone floor with an impossible _bang!_ He woke up the rest of the paintings that had started napping after Adams and Malfoy left, and flinched when McGonagall raised her voice at him.

"_Vargas!_"

"I'm sorry! These hands aren't very strong..."

But now the painted side of the portrait was looking up, and Feliciano put his foot through the great hole that had been shorn through the Fat Lady's face. Gripping the petrified canvas, he tried to uncurl it and get a proper look at the edge.

"What on _earth_ are you looking for?" The headmistress was standing but stayed behind her desk, and it took both hands for Feliciano to wrestle a corner of the frayed, hardened canvas over so he could see... a classical temple, a rendition of a columned pantheon with a Greek roof. But-

No, with those columns it wasn't Greek, it was Roman.

The shape of the leaves, the cluster of grapes hanging from the edge of the portrait.

They weren't cyprus trees, they were tall and narrow, growing straight up and groomed for height and symmetry in the Tuscan style.

The Fat Lady was sitting in a Tuscan vineyard.

"Bruticus the Barbarian-" He repeated the name and then stood up, stepping out of the portrait frame and walking around it quickly. "What was his background?"

"The subject's?"

"No, the portrait itself, what was painted as his background?" Professor McGonagall didn't answer him. "_What's in the backrgound?_ I have no reason to walk so close to Ravenclaw house and I don't remember what it looked like!"

"It was a _town_." A cranky old witch in black robes edged in Ravenclaw blue snapped, resting in a frame several feet over McGonagall's desk and looking down at him disdainfully. "It was some small red-roofed little town he was always going on about conquering and plundering, the brute. Before you ask, yes, it was probably Italy but I don't honestly care."

The Tuscan Flower Girl had hung near the Infirmary and been resting in a garden of flowers under the shade of an orchard.

The Venetian Gondolier had been on the canals with a view of the city beyond his lover's apartment.

"That doesn't make any sense..." Didn't it? He wanted to say yes, but- "That doesn't make any sense at all."

"Vargas?" He walked away from the painting, he had to think, he had to just process what was coming at him. His thoughts kept running back the exact same way, but _why?_ "What are you thinking of? Mister _Vargas._"

"It's me." He didn't like how that sounded, he never _really _liked the way that sounded. There was so much power in words like the ones he was about to speak, something more impressive than wizard's spells or wand taps and wild flickers. "I'm always in the background."

"A little boy like _you?_" Another portrait spoke up and was silenced by McGonagall, which was good but it still came too late to stop him from lashing out. He didn't like the conclusion he was coming too, he wasn't ready to accept it as truth.

"I _am_ Italy." He announced, voice full and stressing the charm resting cold and hard against his chest, the chain choking the maturity out of his words while they struggled to command the respect that _he_, has a _nation_, deserved. "And if my image alone becomes the thread that binds these attacks together, then that is an assault on _me._"

The portraits went still and absolutely silent, almost like they were normal, non-magical renditions of dead witches and wizards. Professor McGonagall had reclaimed her seat behind her desk, and she was as deathly still as the rest of her predecessors.

"What paintings cannot be salvaged I trust Hogwarts will burn, except for the frame of the Venetian Gondolier which I request you send to my residence in Rome. If you don't know why, then check the name on the back corner."

Professor McGonagall needed a moment to swallow and find her words again, and it was just enough time for Feliciano to taste the blood in his mouth and catch the metallic reek of magic oozing out of his pores. The charm was fighting so hard to keep him wrapped up in such a tiny little body that it was beginning to physically hurt where it touched his skin. There was a reason the Representation of North Italy wasn't a small child anymore.

"I take this to mean you will be returning in September?"

"It does." And he had to stop himself from speaking again for a few moments, swallowing the thick copper welling up in his throat from his empty stomach. Several deep breaths later, his temper was back under control and the pain began receding across his chest and along the links of the chain.

"And I apologize for my temper, Professor McGonagall. People like me... we aren't meant to take threats lightly."

"I don't imagine so..." Her gaze drifted away from him briefly, resting on the ticking face of a brass clock before she found her voice again. "You will have to recover quickly I'm afraid, the carriages won't wait more than another ten minutes for your arrival."

"Thank you for your understanding, Headmistress."

"And thank you... for your intervention this morning, Mister Vargas."

With the politest nod he could manage, Feliciano let himself out of Professor McGonagall's office, and so ended his second year at Hogwarts.

* * *

**I told myself when I started uploading this here that I'd change the second Margaret's name to something else, but then I completely forgot about it in chapter 19 where Margaret Adams was first mentioned. BLERG. TWO MARGARETS. **


	29. Summer Fun

**_Snakeskins_**

Summer Fun

"And what if I don't _want_ to spend the summer at Malfoy Manor?"

"See that's the part where you don't have a _choice_ in the matter."

Arthur had a great deal to say about that in his own London basement, watching Scotland use his wand and carefully draw spirals of red light out of the watch face sitting on the table between them.

The idea of putting the charm on again was enough to give Arthur hives. He hadn't known how cut off he'd been feeling until he'd taken it off almost two weeks ago, and it had been like breaking the surface of a deep, dark ocean current to breathe and feel the sun once again.

He felt his industries like++ the blood surging through his veins, the daily rhythm of his people pounding like the heart in his chest. His senses were eased from the grain of childhood wonder and confusion and his sense of self-worth was brilliantly restored. He didn't know how he'd ever lowered himself to hiding in Scotland's _shadow_, but those fragile feelings were crushed and he felt like himself again.

All of the restrictions on who he was were meant to _help_, and they did! Arthur hadn't felt the rapid flooding in his low-lying areas that winter when record rainfall swept through several counties and led to evacuations. It felt like he'd betrayed himself by _not_ being aware of it, but at the same time it had kept his cover from being irreversibly blown to pieces if he'd started clawing at Hogwarts' doors trying to get out and put on a uniform so he could help hand out nutritional packets and bottled water.

The charm was... rather like a jam on the scale of his soul, or a rod in the way of a pendulum's natural swing. There would always be the external self: Arthur, and the internal one: England. Those two sides would always exist whether they were weights on a scale, sides of a coin, and so on.

But, due to the desperate need to keep the internal _on the inside_, it meant... being cut off from it- being cut off from himself. He was still English and he was still England and he was still the former British Empire, but he wasn't _quite _part of the United Kingdom. He almost wasn't quite _England._

It was supposed to be a conscious thing. He could breathe in and know what the weather was like over Liverpool and if traffic conditions were being maintained in central London. He could wake up in the morning and understand that his parliament had been sitting all night on a particularly nonsensical bill and know what to expect from a day at work in Westminster.

When wearing the charm however, it became a _subconscious_ thing. He didn't wake up in the Hogwarts Dungeon and go _'oh yes, bad day for the markets'_, he had to read the paper just like anyone else and check the numbers. And he still checked them; he still had the mental stamina for it unlike the physical side that was so desperately lacking.

But the body had to be small and it had to be easy to wear out, despite how much physical stress it was starting to put on him.

After two years of wearing the charm there was a soreness in his wrist and creeping up his arm whenever it was off, like he was experiencing growing-pains all over again from bones shrinking and lengthening.

He'd lost weight as well, not what he'd expected on a diet of mashed potatoes and sausage from Hogwarts' kitchens, but only a week looking in his own mirror had confirmed it. He wasn't lacking nutrients from food, his body was simply wasting away what parts of itself wouldn't fit within the confines of the charm. Broken down muscles and thinning hair: the _visible _traits of nationhood vanishing from his body like the conscious thoughts from his mind.

He couldn't sense his armed forces, so his muscle-mass melted away.

He wasn't in contact with his working population, therefore the callouses on his hands were gone along with most of the strength in his long fingers.

By spending so much time with such a small minority, his voice felt raspy and hurt to use after too few hours of standing and speaking.

Whatever the combined effect was on him however, it had to be doubly hard on Italy. At least Arthur was still operating in his basic language and surrounded by children and professionals who hailed from his lands as much as Scotland's. It was necessary to give the poor bastard a break and go home to properly recharge this time.

"What did Italy tell you happened in McGonagall's office this year at term's end?" Scotland reminded him, giving Arthur a serious look over the steady glow of the altered charm as it was tweaked and shifted, the jam inching back a few spaces so maybe Arthur would feel a bit more like himself while _looking_ more like himself come the start of August.

"He said he thinks the paintings are as much an attack on himself as they are on the school."

"Exactly, which is ironic considerin' which one of you wants Hogwarts shut down."

"He never actually said he'd close the school you know."

"Not to _you_, but what do you think Lovino and I gab about while you two are off playing study-buddies?" He made a very desperate point by saying that, something which didn't sit well with Arthur at all. "Keep an eye on him, Arthur. If Italy isn't satisfied at the end of seven years at this school then you know what'll happen."

"Well Hogwarts isn't doing itself any favours!"

"_Exactly_." Scotland raised his voice just enough to annoy Arthur with his tone, the light finally dying down on the table before he picked the watch up and held it to his ear to make sure it was still ticking. "So that means that while Vargas keeps the pressure on McGonagall, you and I need to keep making nice with the Malfoys. _And_ the Higgs _and_ the Gamps, even the Flints if you can swing it, boy. That Gloria Flint's father is on the council and that's just as good as chatting up a Professor."

"You know I didn't make friends with Scorpius because of his father." It felt very necessary to point that out, and not just because Scotland was advancing on him with that watch.

"See now _that_ I believe. I almost choked when your first letter mentioned that family." Because the entire Kirkland family had been involved in the war and set on bringing down dark wizards like the Malfoys... "But there's no sense wasting a good opportunity. You be a polite, _attentive_ little guest and hopefully the Professor'll say something that'll let us know how things are progressing on the staff-side of things."

Scotland held the watch out for adjustments and Arthur hesitated. He was angry at himself for it, but couldn't make his arm rise to take the charm.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, sorry." But rather than try to explain he forced his body to obey, reaching up just to watch Scotland's hand pull back without letting the magic grab him.

"Don't go lyin' to me now, boy." Scotland's red brows were down over his blue eyes, his skin almost completely white so it was obvious he was spending so much more time inside now than out and about during the day. He'd tapped out a cigarette a few minutes ago to focus on the charm but the mild nicotine stains on his teeth were visible when he clenched his jaw in irritation. Arthur had to fight hard for the words and Scotland interrupted him before he could win. "Look, it's not blackmail and it ain't in bad faith either, is it? You're actually friends with that Malfoy kid and that's fine, I ain't gonna tease you about basic human behaviour."

"It's not about the Malfoys." Arthur stumbled, closing his eyes and giving his head a shake while his hands waved away the idea. "And it's not the plan, it's a fine idea and I approve of it. Malfoy Manor is actually rather pleasant now so I don't really care about going."

"Then what's the matter?"

"I just-" No, he couldn't be this petulant and start acting like a little child again just because the charm was _near_ him. Was he England or was he not? "Nevermind, just give the damned thing over, will you?"

"Not until you tell me why you're gettin' all quiet all of the sudden." He didn't bloody well want to explain! "_England!_"

"I don't like it!"And he didn't like being yelled at either! "I don't like the way it feels, I don't like what it _does_ to me! It's unnatural and I _know_ why! I understand why: I helped you design the damned thing myself, didn't I? So I_ get it!_" And he just... "I just don't like it."

He ended with that, looking down and away from Scotland for a moment so he could take a few steady breaths and regroup after shouting like an infant for no reason. He made himself speak harshly: "Now stop coddling me and let me put the damned thing on. I'm a fully mature nation, thank you, and I can deal with this myself."

He held a hand out for the watch and looked up so Scotland knew he meant it, but instead of giving in and just letting them get on with it, Scotland was the one who hesitated now.

"Well Christ, Arthur, if you feel that way about it then why didn't you say anything sooner?"

"Because it doesn't matter." He shot back, not in the mood to be looked after or handled with a gentle tone of voice like that. The charm weakened him to the point where he began to act like a child, but it didn't _make_ him one. "Every piece of that enchantment is there for a reason. We both know we can't take parts of it away without compromising the whole so stuff it and stop with the suspense."

Scotland was worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, an anxious tick that threatened to set Arthur's temper off properly this time. He didn't need that open look or the deep breath Scotland took before answering him!

"Fine, but only if you're sure."

"I'm damned sure now hand it over."

Scotland obeyed this time and Arthur's fingers flinched back when he touched the watch, pure will forcing his hand to close around the strap and face as he shut his eyes tight and felt the floor rip itself out from under him. A deafening roar of blood spinning in his ears as his heart thundered and his stomach did flips, the room tilting wildly like he was lost at sea and moments from being ripped sideways into the hurricane to drown.

He hit the floor and there was something large and warm supporting him, his temper held back by the sear of bile shooting up his throat only to be swallowed again around the need to breathe.

He hated it, two years of this and it wasn't getting any easier as they headed into the third. Arthur opened his eyes slowly and found his head resting hard between Scotland's shoulder and chest, his brother's arm wrapped around his side where Arthur's arms were locked in front of him like he was going to spew everywhere. He couldn't feel his legs, but they were slowly coming back...

London itself was starting to... fade.

"Let go of me, you git..." He hissed, but then he felt a large hand close around the back of his head instead, and the arm around his waist pulled him closer until he almost kicked back with the affront of being held.

"Not until that shaking stops." He didn't need Scotland's pity, he didn't need the brute's tall frame crouched in front of him reeking of cigarettes and the faded sweetness of pipe-smoke. How dare he think Arthur needed strong arms and the warmth of a steady heart-beat, it wasn't... like he could take... any... comfort...

"You're getting soft..." In... both possible senses.

"And you're defendin' my school." Damned right he was... "The least I can do, Arthur, is try and find a better alternative while you're there this year."

"Don't waste your time." He mumbled, face full of the blue summer tee his brother was wearing over black jeans. Arthur was still in the old white shirt and grey sweatpants he'd put on in preparation for the shrinking, and he didn't trust himself when his head was adjusted so his neck didn't hurt so much in this position. He closed his eyes again and...

"Don't waste your strength..." And...

And he woke up with late afternoon sunshine spilling over his bed what must have been hours later. The house was completely silent except for the ticking of a clock in his office and the quiet padding of his familiar, Crumpet. The scottish fold cat had bent brown ears and patches of blonde fur over its white body, and jumped up next to him to sniff him and curl up in a ball under his arm.

He wasn't wearing the charm, and there was a cup of cold tea next to his bed with a letter from his idiot brother resting against it.

It was a monumental effort to reach for it, but he snagged it between two fingers and unfolded it in the summer light.

_"Go back to sleep."_

Hmph.

"_I'll be at Malfoy Manor for dinner, gonna tell them you've had a bad fever all week and it just hasn't broken in time. Or that you flew your broom through the den and smashed grandma's urn, haven't made up my mind yet._

_Adjustments are made on the watch, you look like a tuckered out 13-year-old boy when you wear it now._

_Since you're home, you can look over that speech for Canada's Prime Minister: they'll be in town starting Thursday._

_Be home by midnight._

_Now get the fuck back to sleep._"

So Arthur rolled back over, closed his eyes, and did exactly that.

* * *

"How long have you been in Italy? Do you like it? Ah! Yes, I speak German too, Bella, I'm very good at-"

"STOP_ FLIRTING!_"

Getting shouted at in one of his own cantinas wasn't very nice, but Feliciano was forced to make his exit when the pretty blonde German woman he'd been talking to burst out laughing and excused herself to step out into the bright summer sunshine. Returning to the table of friends with a sigh, he sat back down and looked up to one smirking face, one angry face, and one very tipsy friend.

"Ve~ Japan, are you alright?"

"He's fine!" Germany snapped, bringing his voice back down where he was sitting with sunburn kissing his long cheeks and the rounded end of his nose. His sunglasses were hanging from the pocket of the white short-sleeved shirt he was wearing in the heat, thick arms dusted with pale blonde hair resting on the table next to their empty plates and the last of the bread and wine from their meal. "You're the one who needs to focus, after spending two years around flirty teenagers I'm amazed you still have the stamina for _more_ flirting."

"But I haven't been around teenagers, I've been around little kids!" Feliciano happily corrected.

"Are you saying your kind can't tell the difference, Kraut?"

It was _beyond_ rare for Lovino to agree to spend time around Germany and Feliciano knew to be thankful for every second of tolerance his brother showed. The almost-empty state of his wine glass was probably to thank for his patience, and Feliciano was quick to grab the dark green bottle in the middle of the table and tip it over his brother's glass.

"What- it's empty already?"

Lovino outright laughed at him.

"Blame that one." He chided, grinning and nodding his head to the fourth member of their party where Japan had his head down on the table after finishing his meal. His black hair was uncomfortably straight despite the heat, shoulders shaking slightly under the white collar and shoulders of his polo shirt. His camera was probably still around his neck, but Feliciano was a little concerned when Japan didn't really move except to keep shaking.

And singing.

"Is he really singing?" Feliciano asked, insisting at the same time that he hadn't been away from the table for _that_ long.

"Sounds like it."

"You know how he gets when he's on vacation." Germany sounded like he was scolding Feliciano himself, and he didn't think that that was very fair. He wasn't the one warbling Okinawan beach songs under his breath!

"Should we put him in the car?"

"I say we put him on the train up to that stupid school of yours."

"In that case we'd have to make him younger than me." Feliciano pointed out, countering his brother where Lovino was putting on a smug grin and waved a hand to get their server's attention for more wine. "I don't think he'd like that."

"All the more reason to do it then."

"Could we please not talk about this in public?" Germany looked and sounded completely out of his comfort zone, squirming on his chair where he'd otherwise been either strict or at ease for the entire three day tour of Feliciano's best wineries.

After all, that was what Lovino had stuffed in that blue envelop while Feliciano had still been at Hogwarts: a brochure of central and northern Italian wineries, the best of his own orchards and sights. It was the closest Lovino had come to apologizing for that military disaster of a vacation last year, and the fact that he'd invited Germany and Japan without even asking Feliciano about it said how much sincerity was behind the gesture.

A car, a map, and a lot of wine all made for an excellent summer break between June and the end of August. There was only one major hiccup three days after the wine tour ended and his friends returned to Berlin and Tokyo respectively, and Feliciano felt like he handled the trio of owls with a great deal more decorum than Lovino who shrieked and screamed and made a great big fuss about a broken window and something Feliciano had sworn to never, ever waste money on.

It put him in a funny kind of mood as summer wound down, because he almost forgot about the surprise delivery before he found it again while packing for London. A week before September first and the Hogwarts Express, Feliciano had to make his way back to England's private home for a bit of illicit magic in that much brighter and better organized basement. They also had plans to _not_ wait until the very last minute to comb through Diagon Alley for their school books and supplies.

But that was just an idea, and it didn't mean they really kept to it.

"Is that a...?" Especially when Feliciano collected his baggage at the airport with England hovering next to him and Scotland out minding the car at Heathrow_._

"Don't. England: don't speak." Because it was embarrassing to load up a trunk next to... _it_.

"Merlin's pants it really is..." Yes, it really was. "And you haven't even unwrapped it: Scorpius is going to have a fit."

"Since his father was mentioned by name in the letter that came with it, that means I get to beat him over the head with it, right?"

"There are over a thousand ways to foul a Seeker, Vargas, and I think that's officially one of them." Poor, naive England: he said it like Feliciano actually cared. "Oh buck up, it's not the worst reward anyone's ever gotten for keeping a Hogwarts student from expulsion." No.

But that didn't make a racing broom come even close to being what Feliciano wanted to explain at customs.

* * *

**Short chapter because I really don't care about the summer between years 2 and 3. How the hell am I almost ten chapters from this point and still just barely into Christmas Holidays...?**

**Leave a comment below and I'll be back with 30 in a few days!**


	30. Third Year

**I'm in the middle of writing chapter 40 and just barely made it through Christmas, you can tell how much this project is beginning to slow down.**

* * *

**_Snakeskins_**

Third Year

Third year was as unnecessarily hectic to get started as the previous two, which put Arthur and Scotland right at their wits end because _how_ were they forever going through Diagon Alley at the very last moment every year?

"Ah, Mister Kirkland! Late again as always I see?"

The shopkeeper at Flourish and Bolts actually knew Scotland by face, that was how damned predictable the last minute shopping for _"that's not the right book!"_ and "_wait we need a __**bronze**__ cauldron this year?"_ had become.

By some miracle they did in fact make it to the Platform in time to catch the Hogwarts Express, but not without a few unexpected surprises along the way.

For one, it wasn't until they actually reached Platform Nine and Three Quarters and one of the old Slytherin first years walked by that Arthur realized, with a sudden gasp and then a brutal fight not to laugh, that they'd completely forgotten to make Italy any_ taller_ over summer break. They'd changed his face, but not his height. The poor man barely came up to Scorpius' chin when the next surprise ambled over in the form of both Mrs. _and_ Professor Malfoy on the platform.

"Fancy seeing you at the station, Professor!" Scotland took over for the three of them by marvelling Professor Malfoy's rare break from surgical white to appear in a grey suit, the silver snakes done into his purple tie writhing when the Professor laughed a little bit. "They've got you as hall monitor then this year? Have to keep all these rug-rats in line?"

"Not exactly, but I _am_ going to be on the Express this afternoon." Arthur was plenty curious about this, but Scorpius had other ideas and was currently trying to get a look at something that Italy, with his lacking height, was struggling to hide. "There was some urgent business at Saint Mungo's throughout the middle of August, and I simply couldn't leave things half-finished."

Scotland's reply didn't matter because Scorpius let out a sudden gasp and his whole face broke into a grin. His chin looked like it was getting longer and his cheeks were thinning out, the top half of his face not quite sure what shape it wanted to be as the beginnings of teenage awkwardness were nipping at his pale features and twisting them with uneven growth. But he still had sharp grey eyes, and they were completely focused on what was making Italy dance uncomfortably and then shake his head with a sharp hushing gesture that Scorpius ignored.

"That's a broom, isn't it!"

"No-"

"You finally got a racing broom! You're going to make the team then?"

"Scorpius I-"

"Ah! That's right," Scotland sighed, breaking the conversation he'd been having and switching topics with the way Scorpius was now actively trying to get behind Italy and get his hands on the paper-wrapped broomstick Italy was dancing furiously to keep out of reach. "Professor Malfoy before you and the boys head off I forgot to pass a message on from the older Mister Vargas. He sends his thanks for the good word you passed on to Mister Adams last year. Admittedly, a racing broom is probably a bit much, but there's genuine thanks none the less."

"Well, Mister Kirkland," Professor Malfoy answered smoothly and with a pleased smile, "you'll remind the _older_ Mister Vargas that not only did his younger brother save the Adams family from a massive embarrassment, but he also rescued Miss Adams' promising career at Gringotts bank." Professor Malfoy looked so satisfied to say those words, either because he was inches from dotting on Italy for the achievement or he just loved hearing his own voice praising Slytherins past and present.

"Bring it on the train with you- oh _won't_ you?"

"I'm not sitting with it in the great hall!"

Italy was fully prepared to toss the wrapped broom right under the train's wheels as their luggage was stowed and an urgent whistle from the bright red engine got them all to hurry up with their good-byes. The professor and his wife shared a kiss and a flurry of last minute reminders about various potions and paperwork, and Scorpius was told to stop harassing Italy because Quidditch really was such an _awful_ sport and she thought him brilliant for wanting nothing to do with it.

"I'll be in contact, as always, I'm sure Lovino'll be sending a howler along in due time."

"_Don't remind me!_"

Much waving and carrying-on later and the four of them, Professor Malfoy obviously included, were all on board the train.

"Now, I won't go embarrassing you so I'm off to the staff car instead. Scorpius." Probably the last time between now and Christmas that Professor Malfoy would address his son by name made Scorpius spin around, his father quickly pushing a fat gold galleon into his palm before raising a finger to his half-smiling lips. And then, with a wink, he was gone.

Scorpius seemed absolutely thrilled with his new bounty, weighing the heavy coin in his hand with a flustered smile right up until he turned around and saw Arthur and Italy both looking straight at him. Arthur didn't hesitate.

"Snacks are on you then."

"But this is Hogsmeade money!"

"You can buy us Hogsmeade snacks too," Italy chirped, both of them fully prepared to ignore how immature it was to expect a child to pay for their chocolates and sweets for the afternoon.

Being in third year didn't magically make finding a compartment any easier, but there was a very real understanding when they opened one compartment door to find a cluster of five petrified children that they were obligated to leave unsorted students alone at all costs. They weren't wearing their Hogwarts uniforms yet to declare themselves Slytherins, but it was simply common decency.

They did end up finding one space near the back end of the train as they pulled out of the station, and about ten minutes later a frantic looking Eliza Gamp shyly knocked and was welcomed in with smiles and genuine assurances that yes, of course she could sit down with them.

"It felt like I had to search the entire train... _twice._" She really did look upset, the poor thing, eyes darting around the compartment several times only to come back and rest on her folded hands. Her feet were planted solidly on the floor where she was sitting, hands pressed to her grey skirt so hard she was going to leave wrinkles in it. "I thought I saw Higgs on the platform but he vanished up a different door with one of his duelling club friends. Then there was Flint but- oh, I'm just rambling now, I'm sorry."

"It's alright," Italy soothed.

"I can leave if you want me to, I'll understand."

"For goodness sake just stay!" Scorpius was a lot less patient, but much more to the point. "When are you going to believe that you aren't a bother or anything like that? The only thing that's bothersome is you apologizing for being annoying, so keep everything else and just stop that. We're your _friends_, remember?"

She looked petrified trying to sort out how to feel about his words, but Italy found a way to broker easier conversation by pulling out a copy of their new third year schedule and getting them to talk about it.

Divination with Professor Firenze, a detail that had Italy practically bouncing because it was the Italian word for Florence. Care of Magical Creatures with Professor Hagrid, and Scorpius went completely pale and shuffled back on his seat trying to maintain composure.

"That... that damned book bit me!" He stuttered, curling and uncurling his fingers rapidly like he could still feel it trying to sink its teeth into him. "Snarling, nasty thing, I can't stand it."

"I haven't taken the buckle off mine yet." Arthur acknowledged, having to think hard about which book Scorpius was talking about only to remember that one of their new books for this year had _growled_ at them in the shop.

"Is... is it alive?" Eliza asked softly, recovering her voice and looking bewildered when Scorpius gave her a critical glare and Italy just shrugged because he was as out of touch as Arthur. "I know which one you mean with the red strap on it, but mine just fell open when I touched it."

"Well then your magic's better than mine because I wouldn't be taking the class at all if it weren't required."

They fell into a discussion of what they expected their new classes to be like, completely ignoring a disturbing change to the schedule's roster in favour of listening to Scorpius hum and haw about the fact that his father was the prime candidate to replace Professor Slughorn as Potions Master at Hogwarts.

"He's already School Healer and Slytherin Head, and he teaches the Advanced Potions classes because Slughorn just can't anymore." How Scorpius felt about the idea of his father taking on additional work was clear by the way he wrinkled his nose and shook his head like there was a foul smell. "But on top of _that_ he still works at Saint Mungo's during the summer. If he became Potions Master then I'd never see him _ever._"

"You do your best to avoid him at school anyways though, don't you?" Gamp pointed out, shyly peering up from behind a stack of playing cards fanned in front of her nose. Italy had been trying to teach them a game for the last ten minutes, but the conversation was still more engaging than him forgetting his own rules.

"Because he's not my dad at Hogwarts, he's _Professor Malfoy_." Scorpius answered, abandoning his cards all together when Italy told him one thing and then remembered that no, the Jack of Clubs did something else. "You notice he never talks to me directly either if anyone else is around, it'll be something like _'Mister Kirkland tell your friend'_ or _'Professor Binns tell that one Slytherin'_ or something like that."

"You have to admit that it'd be about a hundred times worse if he was all _'Oh son are you wearing the same shirt again today?'_" Arthur pointed out, watching Italy collect the confused deck of cards and crack open the compartment door looking for the snack trolley. "Imagine him coming down from the head table and telling you to eat your greens at dinner."

Scorpius was so scandalized by the mere _idea_ that he did absolutely anything for the rest of the train ride to keep his father out of the chatter. It didn't change the fact that they were overdue for a new Potions teacher, but it was an excuse to stop talking about Scorpius and focus on Italy instead.

He barely reached Scorpius' chin, but Arthur almost killed himself laughing when Eliza stood up next to him to help pay the snack witch and Italy wasn't even at her _shoulder._ It was a very near thing when Italy turned a glare on him that Arthur didn't burst into flames, because that level of wandless magic was certainly within his grasp.

"Stop laughing at him!" And Eliza was quick to defend Italy too. "I'm sure you'll grow twelve inches this year, Vargas, don't worry."

"Tough luck, really," Scorpius agreed, Arthur holding his head between his knees trying to bring his hysterics under control because it was so damned _stupid_ for them to forget something like that. "At least you know Higgs will keep the Ravenclaws from stepping on you."

"It's not the Ravenclaws I'm afraid of." It was the Gryffindors. Officially being the smallest child in third year was going to make Italy's life a heavy burden until they could tweak the charm to at least give him another inch or two. At least he had his duelling to protect him.

By the time the sun set and the Hogwarts express slowed down, Arthur was quite pleased with his extended endurance that meant he wasn't yawning and ready for bed just getting to the carriages. They did finally run into Higgs in the great hall, and somehow he had the audacity to scold _them_ for abandoning him to find his own way with a group of fourth year Slytherins.

"Don't ever do that again, Vargas, or I'll sock you one I swear." Higgs said it as much as a joke as he did a real threat, the farcical part of it coming out when Charles' wide face broke into a giant grin and he just sat there laughing and pointing, hamming it up at the table to ask who was taller: Feliciano Vargas, or Albus Potter's little sister.

Italy was fed-up, but at least he sang the school song and then his spirits rose with the sorting ceremony. It was a sweeping success for Slytherin when they claimed eight shy looking first years, the largest class in two years, and the feast was about to begin.

About to, but then Professor McGonagall raised her hands for silence and slowly stood, her ancient face exhausted and yet still clutching firmly to her respectable airs and the graces that let her command a sea of chatty young students with merely a gesture and a smile.

"Before we begin our feast this evening, I have but one happy announcement to make." And she did seem pleased, something that was refreshing while the other members of staff seemed to be smiling and nodding happily. Arthur's eyes found Professor Malfoy leaning on one elbow to see further down the table, but even he was smiling and completely at ease while ignoring Longbottom completely for once. Whatever the announcement, it had nothing to do with Houses.

"It brings me great pleasure to introduce our new History of Magic Instructor: Professor Alice Huntington."

Polite applause from all four tables ushered a mature witch to her feet, pretty lilac robes complimenting the slight wash of red in her curled hair, just enough frill to remain tasteful while she smiled brightly with what looked like a string of massive pearls around her throat. Arthur had a hard time seeing anything more than a straight long nose and narrow lips painted red, but given how the rest of the head table was smiling and applauding merrily, there were no ill feelings.

Not until Eliza asked a terrifying question in the dying moments of the applause:

"But how do you replace a _ghost?_"

Arthur stopped clapping, and he felt his smile die and fall off his face.

He looked straight at Italy and saw the exact same horror screaming through the other nation's stressful eyes behind his smile.

* * *

Binns was gone.

The Slytherin commons was a safe place where the first years could come running and hide when the school over their heads was too mean or scary, so that made it hard for the upperclassmen to talk about the reality of the new Professor's position. Feliciano wouldn't be able to forgive himself if he terrified one of the new first years or made them cry by telling them that they'd come to a school where even the _dead_ were in danger of being hunted down.

Binns, the Baron, Peeves, and all it took was twenty minutes into their first third-year charms class before David Baker of Hufflepuff attempted stilted conversation at the desk he and Feliciano now permanently shared.

"So, um..." He had his head down and he was scratching notes onto a piece of parchment when he tried talking, the two of them copying sets of glyphs for a bit of wandless practice first before they could trace the patterns over the paper or into the air. "About Binns..."

"Do you know what Professor Huntington is like?" Hufflepuffs had different schedules than Slytherins, so Feliciano kept his voice on the same low pitch as Baker and even nudged his ink well over so they could both use it when it was clear Baker's was already running low.

"She's alright, really nice actually, but... Binns being gone is... it's kinda like your house ghost vanishing, isn't it? Unless he's back?"

The Bloody Baron wasn't back. Feliciano watched Scorpius almost pull a muscle in his shoulder rattling the Baron's chain that evening trying to summon him, but the new house Prefect just told him to stop making such a racket and sit down again with nothing to show for it.

Third year brought a lot of shuffling to their schedules. Three times a week on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays they began the morning in Herbology with the Gryffindors, went to Charms with Hufflepuff, had Transfiguration with Ravenclaw, and ended off in Creevey's Defense Against the Dark Art's class with Gryffindor again, unless it was Friday night when they were expected in the Astronomy Tower with Hufflepuff.

Tuesdays and Thursdays were dominated by their new experience with Care of Magical Creatures with Ravenclaws, followed by History of Magic and more Ravenclaws, an escape to Potions with Gryffindor, and then Divination with Hufflepuff. All houses shared three classes together; it was confusing, but not impossible to keep straight.

There was a lot of apprehension about stepping into History of Magic for the first time after summer, Feliciano's own distrust of the subject putting him even more on edge than the other Slytherins. But he was happily surprised instead.

Professor Binns had been dead for a long time, as much as a century, and his classroom had looked it. Piled high with books and half-discarded things that he'd just put down one day and then been rendered a ghost the next and unable to move. Feliciano had never realized how _large_ the history room on the third floor actually was because of all the piled books and musty cob-webs, he hadn't even known there were two extra _windows_ in the stone walls.

The smell of dust was completely gone when they walked in alongside the Ravenclaws, in fact there was a very faint, very refreshing floral scent in the air and a soft autumn breeze from the way two of the windows along the far wall had been opened up. He hadn't known they could open at all!

The hard benches had been given pale green cushions that made them so much comfier than before, and the musty, age-stained rafters were hidden by draping curtains of sky blue hanging from gold chains. Professor Huntington was a mature witch in her 30s but she was probably younger in spirit than Longbottom or Malfoy, poised on Professor Binns' dais with sunlight dancing off the lacy trim of her soft orange robe with its gold highlights. Her hair was red and curly in nature- pressed into even ringlets around her head and leaving her neck bare. The bright red lipstick she wore was obvious, but it was meant to be when she stood there with such a vibrant smile, her brown eyes following the students as they filtered in and stumbled a little to see the room so transformed.

When Feliciano looked around at the walls, he was startled to see a wall mural at the front of the room with a to-scale map of the world painted on it, enchanted colours making the water ripple at the coast of Africa, clouds swirling like satellite imagery over the oceans and washing over the land masses in a hypnotizing, and incredibly soothing way. Had she done it herself? He wanted to know. He wanted to tell England how happy he was to have such a literal breath of fresh air in the class he hated most.

When the entire class was seated however, there was a minor hiccup. Professor Huntington's smile dimmed a little bit, rocking on her feet where there was the shy clunk of heeled shoes tapping under the edge of her robe. Her eyes watched the back of the room until it was almost five minutes into the lesson, and then she let her gaze sweep over the Ravenclaws, counting, then the Slytherins, counting again.

Feliciano couldn't help himself and swung his head around too, counting twelve Ravenclaws to seven Slytherins: everybody was here.

Professor Huntington turned to look over her shoulder at a large brass clock on the wall, one of the only things Feliciano half-recognized from last year since it had been polished for the first time in centuries. She knew how much time she was wasting, and looked back at her class with an exasperated little sigh.

"This just can't be everyone." Her accent made him jump- she was American!

Feliciano and England shared a quick glance where Feliciano was sitting alone again, the odd number of the class meaning someone from Slytherin had to bear the brunt so it might as well be him today. Scorpius had volunteered to take tomorrow's solo shift.

"One, two, three, four..." Professor Huntington walked over to the speaker's podium at the side of her classroom's dais and started counting something, probably a list of names to help her get to know students. She suddenly gasped and looked up at them in shock, eyes shooting to everybody's throats before her radiant smile came back and she scoffed at herself, hands coming up to clasp her face as she giggled and stomped one foot in embarrassment.

"I was waiting for Hufflepuffs! What a first impression to make- I'm so sorry, class: welcome to History of Magic!"

The rest of the lesson was devoted to a short lecture on why people should even bother studying history, and it was the sort of thing that made a Nation's heart sing. Learning from past mistakes, contextualizing current trends and decisions, the solemnity, the pride, the reality that everything in history was something that actually _happened_. She understood it, there was a passion in the way she spoke that just- Feliciano was almost in love, and the enraptured look on England's face when he somehow pried himself away to look at him said the same thing: this was going to be their favourite lesson of the day.

And it only got better when after the lecture, there was a brief quiz that Professor Huntington swore six times would not impact their grade in any way what so ever, she just wanted to know where Professor Binns had left off so she could continue to teach them. The horrified look on his Ravenclaw classmates' faces frightened him for about thirty seconds, but then Feliciano read the first question himself.

_When was the Renaissance, and where is it credited as having begun? Give a range of dates._

He almost burst into song, he was so happy.

_In the Northumbrian Goblin Rebellion of 1441-_

Okay he skipped that one because he still didn't know, but:

_Approximately when did wand use first appear in Europe?_

Feliciano couldn't remember exactly when he'd first seen one, but he didn't need an _exact_ answer either. It hadn't been too long after his grandfather's death though.

_When was the last Muggle war where Magic folk enlisted and served to fight?_

There were too many answers to that one because there was just no way to track muggle-born wizards from other nations, so he went with the two safest answers: the First and Second World Wars.

Not everything on the quiz was easy, and several questions made him sit there with absolutely zero recollection of why pointed hats were magically superior to rounded or dual-pointed ones. But he actually knew some of what was being asked, and that was more than two previous years of this awful class had done for him.

He left the lesson on his toes, body vibrating with excitement and the disappointment of having to wait another two days before he could come back again.

"She's wonderful, isn't she?" England caught up with him before he was even out of the room, getting a grip on Feliciano's robe and tugging hard.

"Oh, she's fabulous! You have to thank Alfred."

"Did you see that question about Gutenberg?"

"I'll write to Ludwig about it tonight! Do you think he'll be flattered or creeped a little by it?"

For once the two of them even went so far as to forget the rest of their house mates, the cloud they were walking on was so high up that the rest of the school didn't mean a damned thing to them. They had a real history teacher, and even if she only repeated things England already knew or Feliciano had no capacity to hold onto or recollect, she still _understood_ history.

Third year, by the looks of things, was going to be so much better than imagined.


	31. Temper Temper

**Snakeskins Playlist**

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_**Snakeskins**_

Temper Temper

Third year was going to be so much worse than expected.

Their first divination class was cancelled, the upset sending the Slytherin and Hufflepuff students back to their dorms in confusion to wait for dinner.

On Thursday of that week, they went back to the divination room and sat there for an hour without sight or sign of their professor. It meant the lot of them got the jump on their Charms homework since they were the same class for that lesson too, but as far as fortune telling it was a wash.

It was worth asking the fourth and fifth years about, but they were just as confused because Professor Firenze had been present for all of their lessons and had given the same level of outstanding attention and care that he always did.

Arthur, admittedly, was rather miffed to be overlooked like this. If Firenze had been lazy like Slughorn, neglectful like Longbottom, or severe like Parkinson then maybe it would have been tolerable, but Firenze had such a good reputation at the school.

Someone else with a wonderful reputation was Professor Huntington, who if Arthur hadn't been trapped in a thirteen-year-old's body he would have been very quick to assure the new Professor of what an outstanding job she was already doing even after only two lessons. Even Feliciano, whose disastrous performance in History of Magic was well-known, was already doing so much better because her lectures had a taste of world-history glazed over top.

By giving him context for what had been happening on the continent either as influences or _results of_ Goblin rebellions or fashion trends, Italy actually stood a chance of remembering the facts because he could connect them to his own memories and history.

Huntington even earned bonus points from Italy when, as their second week revved up and their Divination classes continued to simply not happen, she revealed that she'd gone abroad to study for several years in a number of Italian cities.

"You did? Really! Which ones? Please tell me!" She scolded him for breaking into Italian after another Thursday lesson, probably the first time Arthur had seen her task someone despite how gently it happened.

"Now, now, Mister Vargas, this is an _English_ school and we speak English here."

"I thought it was Scottish? Should we speak Scots instead?"

She laughed dotingly over him for his quip and sent them on their way, clearly forgetting that sass was worth losing points over the same way it slipped her mind that excellent factual recall was worth giving points. It was simply an effect of her never having been a Hogwarts student before becoming a teacher.

For the fourth lesson straight, Divination didn't happen. Gloria Flint was outraged by the end of the evening and loudly declared that she was going to the infirmary to complain to Professor Malfoy. And then, of all people, she marched straight up to Scorpius in the common room and decided to drag him into it.

"And you! You're coming with me."

"What? Why me?" Scorpius had his Care of Magical Creatures book tethered to his chair and had been trying to feed it bits of quill fuzz when Gloria took him roughly by the arm and started yanking on his robe to make him stand.

"Because _you're_ Professor Malfoy's son! He'll listen to you better than he will me."

"You're mad! I'm not going up there-"

"_Yes you are!_"

In the end they all wound up going because Margaret Finnick was right there to grab Scorpius by the other arm and drag him from his chair, which made Eliza pipe up that they should leave him alone. The girls turned on Eliza at once until she started crying, which put Higgs in a mood while Italy tried to calm her down.

With his entire year getting ready to tear itself apart, Arthur aimed his wand at the ceiling and let off the loudest flash-bang spell he could muster without hurting anyone.

"That's enough!" He shouted, getting all six of them to quiet right down while Finnick jumped several times trying to get the frightened sting out of her spine from being closest to him, she looked like she was about to cry like Gamp for it. "Honestly! We're all going!"

So they all did, Arthur at the head of their little train as they took the long, winding path up to the fourth floor infirmary from the dungeons, someone mentioning the secret passage before getting the brisk reminder that it was a straight vertical climb instead of a fast and easy slide.

They made good time getting to the hospital wing and the doors opened up smoothly, Arthur glancing at Italy where he was happily trotting next to him as they passed high white beds and starched privacy curtains, the light fading quickly through the windows while ambient light from the floor and fabric gave the infirmary a twilight glow.

Professor Malfoy wasn't standing in the middle of the hospital wing like Arthur had somehow come to expect, it wasn't as if his job was just to hover there doing nothing all day, but they followed the length of the chamber until they reached his office door, a gentle light under the jamb telling them there was at least a candle or two lit inside even if he wasn't there.

"We should leave." Scorpius hissed, and Arthur turned around in time to watch Margaret Finnick turn such a _look_ on him from down her nose.

"You warty toad, what are you so scared of?"

"I don't know- _bothering the professor?_"

"He's your dad!"

_"Not at school!"_

Scorpius kept his voice down for his argument while Miss Flint grew absolutely sick of waiting and gave Arthur a rude shove to get him out of her way, completely neglecting to give Italy the same rough treatment as she marched up and knocked twice on the door.

"Enter."

They couldn't all fit inside, but Flint did open the door and then gave an expectant look at the rest of them to come up behind her like obedient little followers. Arthur chaffed against her attitude much like Scorpius was with Finnick, but all seven third years did come closer and there was a stilted silence on their end as they heard Professor Malfoy, hidden in the tall chair that was turned away from the door so he could work, speak.

"I'm surprised you care so much, Horace, but as I told you I won't have these marked until-" Arthur thought he saw a very _familiar_ stack of red potions on Professor Malfoy's desk before the professor himself leaned over in his chair to address whoever he thought was there.

"Miss Flint, Mister Kirkland." He was surprised to see students standing there instead, and calmly vanished back behind his chair so he could stand. When he stepped back into view, he paused at the side of his chair when he realized... "Vargas, Gamp, Higgs, Finnick..." There was a gap where he didn't call Scorpius' name, but he obviously saw him judging by the uncomfortable shuffle going on behind the rest of them.

"Come to run me out of the school then?" Professor Malfoy joked, pushing his chair back so it was right up against the desk and waved them all to crowd into the circular office. "Open rebellion by the third years? I warn you, I don't fight fairly when threatened."

He made light of the situation but also took it rather seriously, the office door swinging shut behind them before with a flick of Professor Malfoy's wand, books began tumbling from the shelves and stacking themselves into seven little seats, a simple turn of the hand welcoming them to sit.

"It's not about you at all, Professor, we promise." Finnick gasped, sounding shocked that he could joke about such things and testing Arthur not to roll his eyes at her urgent tone. "It's Professor Firenze, he's been absolutely dreadful!"

"Ah, he gave you a test that was just a blank bit of parchment?" Malfoy asked, his wand dancing idly next to him as different herbs hanging over their heads began shedding leaves, one bookshelf creeping to the side so the Professor's cauldron could appear and take water and different ingredients quietly in the background. "Yes, he does tend to do that from time to time. I recommend detailing whichever planet comes to mind, he's very fond of Mars."

"No, Professor, it's not that." Higgs grunted, Arthur having taken a spot along the far edge of the semi-circle so if he tried, he could see everyone in their class except for Italy, who was on his other side. "

"I've never had a class of students complain about going for an evening walk around the grounds."

"That's not it either..." Eliza murmured.

Arthur didn't know why he could smell chocolate until he saw a little bronze cup of it come down to hover in front of his nose, exquisitely pleased with the treat as he took the floating vessel and tasted the frothing cocoa, even catching a hint of mint mixed in with the sweetness that warmed him up just right. He didn't feel compelled to say anything as he enjoyed his drink.

The nations weren't intimidated by their Head of House, and Scorpius probably wasn't either given how desperately bored he looked where he was sitting in the middle of the semi-circle holding his cup to his mouth and scowling at the back of Flint's head with Gamp awkwardly sitting between him and Higgs. Italy and Arthur knew the Professor was a fair man, Scorpius was more concerned with not being humiliated in front of his father and peers, and Higgs had been quite happy to have a spare lesson block for September. What Eliza thought of the issue was irrelevant because she didn't say another word as Finnick and Flint took charge.

"We haven't had a single lesson yet! We go to the room but the Professor either doesn't open the door or he doesn't show up at all!"

"It's been two weeks, Professor! Why, Julianna was telling us that by mid-September last year she'd already divined that Slytherin would take a terrible loss in Quidditch: and we _did._" Scorpius' face looked a little bit like murder when Finnick made that declaration.

"But this is so much more important than Quidditch!" Nevermind, Scorpius really was going to murder both of them. Arthur was trying not to burst into giggles with his cocoa. "Where's the Professor gone off to if everyone _else_ gets to see the future but not us? Has he left the school?"

"Not unless he took Professor Desford with him," The Professors soothed. "The two of them were having an enthusiastic chat about flight in the Staff Room this evening." Oh _my..._

Arthur felt Italy elbow him gently in the ribs and just gave a cheeky grin into his cup, nodding to show that yes, his thoughts momentarily went same way. The difference between being two dirty old men and two immature little boys was very ill-defined, so the nations just enjoyed the vulgar joke and went back to listening. That probably wasn't it at all.

But you know what they said about witches and _broomsticks_.

Professor Malfoy promised to speak to Professor Hadrian, the rosy-cheeked witch who took care of Muggle Studies and was head of Hufflepuff house, and then approach Professor Firenze in the morning. The third years were invited to stay and finish off their cocoa, and were granted a small silver slip of waxy paper that granted them permission to head _directly_ to the dorms via the secret passage. The hall-pass had a timer enchantment on it that would cause it to disappear if they took more than the generous fifteen minutes he allotted the seven of them to return to the Slytherin Dormitory with after dark.

They descended through the castle quietly and for the most part with contentment, and that wrapped up the end of their second week back at school.

* * *

Scorpius didn't forgive Flint and Finnick until the weekend finally arrived, and even then, _forgive_ was sort of not the right word.

"Vargas! Go get your broom!" It was more like he went back to ignoring the two girls and harassing Feliciano instead, because it didn't matter how far under his pillow Feliciano tried shoving his head, he had first Scorpius and then Higgs yelling at him bright an early on Saturday to get up so they could go flying.

"No- _no no no_ I don't-" He did not want to go flying.

"You're never going to make the team with that attitude!"

"But I don't _want_ to make the team!" He didn't like Quidditch! He didn't want to play that crazy scary sport at all!

England was no help at all no matter how much Feliciano kicked up a fuss and even dug out the permission slip Lovino had signed to let him go down into the wizard's village at the foot of the mountain. The third years all decided that Hogsmeade could wait for rainy days and bleak weather, because a sunny September afternoon meant having Scorpius tear apart the boys dorms with Higgs looking for Feliciano's broom before they grabbed him by the legs and pulled him straight out of bed.

"But Gloria and Margaret are going to-"

"Don't you _dare_." Scorpius' angry warning made Feliciano clam up about Hogsmeade, clearly understanding how if he suggested leaving his friends to go with the two girls instead he would be a world of hurt and trouble.

So Feliciano had to drag his feet with Arthur laughing and easily handling his old Nimbus broom over his shoulder, a bit of fruit and toast stolen from the great hall making up their measly breakfast as they walked across the green school grounds. Higgs and Scorpius ran straight ahead of them until they were half-way to the Quidditch pitch, then dropped the wrapped up broom and started attacking it.

He almost wished they'd break it.

"It's a _Starduster!_" Scorpius gasped, getting half the wrapping off the broom before he suddenly began handling the contraption like it was important.

"Gotta be a five hundred model at least! Look at the binding!" Higgs was right there with him, tugging at the knotted twine around the paper instead of just ripping it anymore.

Scorpius' Flashbolt was hovering idly nearby and Higgs' broom was resting on the ground. Eliza had her lower model Flashbolt as well, but kept it tucked behind her back and was ambling quietly beside Feliciano so she could work with England to keep him hedged in. He resented it a little bit, but there was nothing he could do.

The Starduster had silver fused into the wooden body of the broom, making it shine a little bit with feathers mixed in with the hard wooden bristled. It looked like an oversized paint-brush and Feliciano tried to ignore the foldable foot-stands mounted at the very back before the bristles, silver pedals like on a bicycle to give him somewhere to place his weight, there was even a flatter, wider portion of the broom's body to form a proper seat. It was a professional broom, and that just made Feliciano even more reluctant to get on it.

"Alright, Vargas, mount up." Scorpius was already on his and ready to kick off, Feliciano just stared at the unwrapped silver monster resting on the grass.

He _did_ like to go fast...

"I'm in the duelling club, isn't that enough?"

"Up, Vargas!"

He held his hand over the broom and took a breath to summon it, only to have the Starduster leap off the ground and stick to his palm like a warm, tailored glove.

God damn it.

The thing was actually bound to him: Feliciano saw his name shimmer across the head of the broom with the silver words _'for someone who will go far_' flare up before they vanished again. The Adams family had hexed the broom before sending it to him, it probably wouldn't carry anyone else now.

He was touched, but in an almost offended kind of way.

"A race to the Slytherin stands then?" Higgs suggested. "Too early for the teams to be out practicing, especially on a Hogsmeade Saturday!"

Feliciano would have rather _been_ in Hogsmeade!

"Ready? Go!" Hey wait-!

Feliciano swung a leg over the broom and kicked off, ankles confused by the lack of support and knees wobbling looking for the body of a motorcycle or horse. He kicked his feet up and his heels immediately found the footstands at the base of the broom, his weight resting on the wide seat instead of the discomfort of a slim wooden rod against his crotch. He reached his short arms up the broom and couldn't quite get a grip in the right place, but it was good enough as he lowered his head and _moved_.

The grass slid away from him and the wind went straight into his eyes, forcing him to squint hard as he shot forward on a smoothly rising angle and caught up with Higgs before he expected to.

He saved energy by hovering behind Higgs instead of just passing him, finding the flute of air behind him to just coast right on his tail as the Quidditch pitch loomed. As soon as Higgs glanced back to look for him, Feliciano broke out of the wake and propelled himself ahead, feet pressing back against the metal bars as his body inched up the broom and he heard a yell through the wind racing past his ears.

The Slytherin stands were on the far side of the pitch from the direction they were approaching from, Scorpius about fifty yards ahead with hands grasping the head of his broom and forehead angled down so he could keep his gaze straight and avoid the wind buffeting against him. Fine, he wanted a race? Then they would race.

Tucking his elbows in tightly, Feliciano spared a quick look back at where England and Eliza were chasing the pack and then focused on what was in front of him. Locking his elbows, there was no motor to rev, just his own body naturally syncing with the broom so it gave a reactive hum and then picked up more speed.

He peeled off higher in to the air and twisted like a corkscrew to let the air jet past him, then took a deep breath to line up his sights with where he wanted to go.

He dove. Gravity and the magic of the broomstick worked together to propel him forward at a steep angle that brought the wind whistling past his cold ears and pressed his hair flat against his skull. His knuckles were frozen in the brisk air as the dive carried him down to half the height of the red Gryffindor tower and the proper Quidditch pitch opened up under them. He pulled himself straight and the Starduster reacted with a burst of silver energy out the back end that gave him a level line of sight screaming towards the green and white checkers for Slytherin.

A misplaced dash of gold zipped in front of him and vanished before he was half-way across the pitch and still lagging ten yards behind Scorpius who was above him. When Feliciano spun his broom again trying to build the momentum to shoot up for more height, he saw the gold flash _again_ and let one hand fly free to grab it.

He caught the walnut-sized body of a golden snitch in his palm, hung on as tight as he could and cranked up on the front of his broom through the wind to shoot straight up this time. He bellied out into a wide arc, feeling himself slow down before he hit the height of the loop and momentum was a beast that flung him straight at the stands.

Scorpius touched the platform first and scuffed his feet over the tented awning spread over the top, but Feliciano was miles ahead of Higgs when a sudden hand reached out from under him and grabbed the handle of Feliciano's boom, yanking it straight out from under him.

He was seventy feet in the air and flipped right over his own wrists, falling with his robe sweeping up over his head and air screaming through his fingers, legs kicking at nothing over his head.

"_COME!_" he screamed, losing the word in a terrified yell as his muscles all seized together and the imminent pain of impact came roaring up under him. His eyes were locked shut and everything was a blur of noise and cold wind, but then he heard a familiar ringing and his flailing arms struck the body of a broomstick.

He grabbed the Starduster, letting go of the snitch he'd found and used both hands to clutch the bonded broomstick close before his foot found one of the stands and the rod woke up and shot him forward instead of up or down. He was flying blind until the wind blasted his robe back, daylight and green grass blurring before he dropped and hit the ground in a heap.

He could have been killed.

It hit him like the sand and turf that were kicked up when he landed without finding his feet, his body rolling twice before coming to a complete stop with Feliciano sitting upright, legs shaking and heart hammering. He was barely able to breathe around the wild panic flooding his veins alongside the adrenaline of the fast ride, but he could have been killed.

If he hadn't known how to summon his broom back in mid-air and then been able to _catch it_, Feliciano would have been nothing but a mangled corpse at the base of Slytherin tower.

And Scorpius knew it too, because there was a terrible sound from up in the air before Feliciano spun around onto his knees and saw two broomsticks collide when Scorpius dove at and then directly tackled someone in red and gold Quidditch robes.

Someone was blowing a whistle and with a rush of air footsteps crashed next to Feliciano. Albus Potter was yelling loudly before the other third year had both hands on his shoulders, prying at his robes asking over and over again if he was alright.

"He didn't mean it! James couldn't have- I swear it!"

He slapped Albus' hand off his arm and stood up, wand out and eyes trained up on the two young wizards grappling with each other in mid-air. Their brooms were circling and barely controlled by ankles and knees as James Potter got a fist full of Scorpius' hair and the Slytherin fought back with a punch that glanced off Potter's cheek instead of slamming him full in the face.

Feliciano had no idea how downright furious he was until he felt his wand starting to burn in his hand, the wood heating up so dramatically that it started hurting to hold onto. He refused to let it go, but rolled it quickly between his thumb and fingers trying to reign in his temper and not let something awful out of his mouth or into the air to stun Potter and see how well he handled a fall like that.

England nearly crashing right in front of him was the only other thing that stopped him from casting, forcing Feliciano's line of sight to break and not even saying anything as he just stood there silently, breathing hard and flushed from the race with his pale hair sticking up everywhere.

His green eyes were saying the same thing as his slack pink lips and the way his hands kept almost rising only to fall back down under his robes. He was saying _'Yes, I understand',_ and _'No, don't you dare do anything_'.

Feliciano nodded and holstered his wand again, still too angry to be afraid of his own anger. It was too raw, because that stunt had been too reckless.

"_Enough!_" A voice Feliciano hadn't heard in a very long time yelled across the pitch, and with another look skyward as Gamp landed on a heap and threw her frightened arms around Feliciano showing how relieved she was that he wasn't hurt, the rest of them watched Professor Desford's wand fly into action.

The First Year Flying instructor didn't need her own broom to settle things, because when her whistle failed her wand released two silver cords that swung around the bristled ends of Scorpius and James' brooms and yanked them both apart. James lost his seat because he didn't let go of Scorpius right away, but he was skilled _and_ strong enough to catch himself with one hand and bring himself to safety. Both boys were fished out of the air and their brooms shook them off once they were close to the ground.

"_James Potter!_" Professor Desford was as blonde and bright-eyed as Feliciano remembered from two years ago when he'd been in her class, but she was down-right furious in her black and white robes as she stormed across the pitch and caught both racing brooms in her hands to confiscate them. "In all my time at Hogwarts I have _never_ seen such a disgraceful display! Twenty points from Gryffindor! _And_ detention with me on Monday after lessons, do you understand? I should have you suspended from Gryffindor's first match of the season!"\

"He stole the snitch, Professor!" Potter argued, too old to whine like a child so he stood there with shoulders back, head up straight as he defended himself instead. "I was within my rights to get it back!"

"An illegal and uncalled for grab that almost killed Mister Vargas! One more word, Potter and that'll be it for the season!" Feliciano had never seen someone shut James Potter up so fast, but it worked and he stood there bitter and unimpressed with his hands behind him, eyes watching his broom hungrily as the Professor gave no signs of giving it back. "And you, Mister Malfoy, should be equally ashamed!"

"Professor, he-" Scorpius had a cut on his lip and the mess along the side of his head showed where Potter had likely ripped hair free from his scalp, but Scorpius didn't need telling twice to shut up and take the scolding from Desford.

"We all saw what he did, Mister Malfoy! But that does not give you the right to swoop in like an eagle and attack either! You should be more concerned with looking after your friend, not avenging him!" They all waited to hear her take away points equal or greater than what Potter had lost for Gryffindor, but the judgement never came because instead Professor Desford turned around and, with a threatening shake of her short blonde head, she turned on Feliciano next.

"That will be five points from Slytherin for interrupting Gryffindor try-outs this morning, Mister Vargas." Feliciano just nodded, he didn't trust himself to speak and was rewarded for that when Desford looked up and actually counted _how many_ Slytherins had flown unannounced into the Quidditch pitch. One or two could be believed as a crash, but only one of them was actually on the Slytherin team and Higgs, Gamp and Kirkland had been so far behind him and Scorpius that… well, it spoke for itself.

"We were only out helpin' Vargas practice with his new broom, Professor." Higgs stole the words Feliciano was still too twisted up inside to try digging out and saying. "I'm sorry, I told them there'd be no one out this early on the pitch."

"It's quite alright, Mister Higgs. You may go back to your Saturday, but you will have to leave the pitch immediately." They all understood and showed it with nods and murmurs, Scorpius getting a look that matched Potter's now when it came to watching his broom in Desford's gloved hands. "And these? I will gladly return them to your head of house, as soon as Professor Longbottom and Professor Malfoy are willing to come and collect them."

The condition that had James Potter pulling a gross face and rolling his eyes a little once Desford's back was turned also made Scorpius look like someone had just signed his death warrant. All Feliciano cared about, really, was just getting away from the pitch and the Gryffindor team before he wound up sending someone else along with Scorpius up to the hospital wing.

"Calm down," England whispered, walking right next to him as the five of them turned and left the Quidditch pitch in a line.

"I'm _trying_," Feliciano muttered back, leading that line all the way back down to the dungeons.

* * *

**Hahaha James Potter...**


	32. Don't Give A Hoot

**To The Sky, Courtyard Apocalypse, Lily's Theme, Showdown.**

**Sjkkbaskdnalsd I told a few people I'd wait until I finished writing 41 to post 32, but then sldkasldknlaskdn those reviews wow I can't help myself.**

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_**Snakeskins**_

Don't Give a Hoot

It took Scorpius about four hours before he mustered up the courage to crawl up to the infirmary and speak to Professor Malfoy about his broom. It could have taken much longer, but the stress of not having it just by his bed in the Slytherin dorm was obviously too much for the poor boy. He still needed Arthur and Charles to go up with him and wait outside, but he went in alone and was inside for about twenty minutes.

Arthur, admittedly, was growing a bit worried just standing out there in the corridor with Charles staring absently out one of the windows near the bare patch of wall where two years ago a portrait had hung. His head felt too empty with the charm humming between his ears as usual, but Scorpius did finally make his return as the Hospital wing doors swung open soundlessly and he stepped out with a curiously blank look on his face.

"How'd it go?" Charles jumped on the question because the doors closed right behind Scorpius with Professor Malfoy nowhere to be found. "He didn't say no, did he?"

"No, nothing like that." A mild shrug from Slytherin's seeker and then he shoved both hands in his trouser pockets, looking down at the floor for a second and giving an awkward shrug. "It wasn't so bad, he said he'll go down to Desford's office after dinner." Then the issue was settled and Arthur was quite pleased.

"Didn't take any points for you getting in a scrap, did he?"

"According to him it was Desford's call, not his. Pain's punishment enough." Scorpius pointed up at his lip where there was still a swollen red mark at the corner of his mouth from James Potter's fist. "If I make a fuss about this then he'll take a pittance, maybe two or three, but I'm fine with it really."

"You just want something to show off to _Gloria_." Higgs teased, a sing-song rise in his voice as the three of them started walking and Scorpius looked disgusted.

"That _nag?_ Never." They didn't quite know where they were going when they reached a staircase and Arthur started going up but Higgs turned down and Scorpius was left on the platform looking confused. Scorpius was the one to get them oriented with a smart question: "Where are Vargas and Gamp?"

"Up in the Owlery, you saw how upset she was after that crash." It had been a very near thing to get Arthur to leave Italy alone. He'd been outright furious for once and Arthur knew how dangerous that could be for any adult, nation or otherwise, but Italy especially. He wasn't _prone_ to anger, and he wasn't the kind of person who was comfortable with or who knew how to handle it easily. South Italy could flare up with his temper and then calm right back down, but North wasn't like that.

The three of them turned up the stairs and started climbing past silent portraits and even crossed paths a few times with other students from different houses. The Hufflepuffs jumped, the Ravenclaws looked down their noses, and the Gryffindors were simply too offended to deal with them. Arthur rolled his eyes while Charles let it get under his skin and Scorpius just sighed and led them straight up to the double-doors and winding staircase of the Owlery's tower.

Owls were very smart creatures, sharper than some ministers in Arthur's government in fact, and loyal the way dogs were praised to be. The Owlery's wide windows kept the air circulated, heating charms in place for the coming winter and high perches with bins of food and water all over the place. About thirty feet of ceiling space with perches high and low, half-walls of stoops along with cleaning charms embedded in the wooden floors and over every available space to keep any measure of filth gone before a speck of it could build up. It was a well-lit, cheerful space full of soft hoots and coos from the hundred or so stooped, snoozing owls.

Arthur and the others climbed into the Saturday sunlight in time to hear a round of happy applause and nearly got swept in the face with a wide white wing before a startled owl looped by them and fluttered urgently back to the widest part of the circular tower's floor. Arthur found himself grinning as the snowy creature extended its clawed feet out and comfortably took hold of Eliza's forearm, wings shifting as it folded and refolded them and the timid girl's hand reached out to stroke its feathers back in order.

It was more than just Eliza and Italy waiting for them, because right after she waved to them with her pet shuffling up to nuzzle and nip under her chin, two familiar voices started chirping questions.

"How much do you feed her? Mum says a cup of pellets a day at least but-"

"But dad says we should let 'em hunt for themselves the way they do here at Hogwarts so y'see-"

"Ours is a bit of a pudge because of it."

Italy was hopped up on one of the tables resting out with ink-wells, quills and parchments for drafting letters home. His ankles were crossed and hands braced on the wooden edge so he could lean forward and watch, nevermind wave and nod with an easy grin on his face as Scorpius and Higgs hustled forward to get a look at the speakers.

There was a bolt of dead silence when Charles Higgs came face to face with the Finnigan twins, the two second year Hufflepuff's sitting on the floor and taking a deep, simultaneous gasp each when they recognized someone only one of the twins could have possibly met a year earlier.

"Um-" And Eliza, who probably had no good reason to know what was going on, broke the silence with a quiet little peep and then looked back at the two Hufflepuffs and the trio of Ravenclaws who'd settled down to admire the display too. "Well, you should check the pellets they spit up in the cage. If Nully's as old as you say he is then he might not be catching enough mice around your house, so he needs the extra food. If he coughs up at least once a week then I think he should be okay, but- but you should really ask Professor Hagrid instead!"

Eliza's nervous little answer got the Finnigan twins, Ian and Finn, to break eye-contact with Charles, and that prompted the Slytherin to just relax a little and fold his arms, leaning on one of the sturdier wooden posts next to him as the brothers mulled over this suggestion and gave him an opening.

"Are you doing owl tricks then, Ellie?"

"Feli- Va-Vargas asked to see a couple!" Now now, she didn't have to stumble so hard just saying Italy's name but it was a quick look at the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws that explained why that was. She looked back at Italy where Arthur had wandered over next to the other nation, looking sorry for using his name like that around strangers.

Italy just laughed.

"I don't mind, Ellie! I like having friends say my name." Which included the underclassmen, who weren't _all_ underclassmen as Arthur got a look over at the Ravenclaws. One of them was actually Addison Miller from their History class in third year, the other a first year judging by her bright-eyed wonder, and a fifth-year Ravenclaw with a _Prefect_ badge was watching from the corner where she had obviously forgotten to keep writing her letter.

"Are you gonna make Gus sing again?" Scorpius asked, still looking a little washed out and mellow from his visit to the infirmary where he'd taken up position on Italy's other side, leaning his weight on the same table before Arthur hopped up to sit on it.

"You can make one _sing?"_ This was far too much for the first year girl sitting on the floor, because Miss Miller from third year asked the question like the idea confused her, the first year- who judging by her black hair and the way she started grabbing and tugging on Miller's robe, must have been her sister- was bouncing on the floor like it was Christmas morning.

"Um- it's not really _singing_, but Gus does try." Arthur felt a rustle of feathers on the stoop next to him, which he assumed must have been _Gus_ given how sensitive owls could be to the sounds of their names. When Eliza turned around to look at him instead of one of the owls, he was confused. "Is it alright with you, Arthur?"

"Is what alright with me?" He understood the painful expression she put on even less than the question itself!

"If... I ask Gus to perform?"

"Why would you have to ask? I don't know these owls."

Eliza Gamp looked like she was slowly collapsing under a weight, until Arthur realized it was more of a '_you can do it!'_ look she was giving him, silently begging for him to give an answer he simply didn't know.

"Gus is _your_ owl," she pleaded.

"That's ridiculous." He answered, looking at Italy who was looking past Arthur all together and being no help, Scorpius was the same until Arthur turned to see what they were watching. "I haven't got a bloody-"

He saw bright yellow eyes, steel blue feathers, and then felt the sharp, splitting pain of a beak snapping on his nose. Arthur flung both hands up over his face with a wail and shut his eyes against the sting, understanding slapping him in the face before Scotland's steel blue monster of an owl took off from its perch and went growling over to Eliza to land on her other arm.

"_YOU-!_" he bellowed, kicking his feet and falling back on the table while Italy and Scorpius howled at him with laughter.

"Well of course he bit you, you hurt his feelings!" And then he got a scolding for it on top of everything else!

"He's not my bloody owl! He's my brother's!"

"You could at least learn his name, no wonder he's such a monster to you." Scorpius was laughing into his sleeve and Italy had given up completely, one arm on Scorpius's shoulder and head bowed so he could just laugh.

After everyone was settled down and Eliza tried to calm the expectations about _Gus_ breaking into a full song and dance routine, the girl with the monster bird on her arm put her finger to her lips, made eye-contact with the blue featherduster, and counted down gently with a mouse between her fingers to court him into singing.

Scotland's owl twisted its head around, fluffed all of its feathers up like it was clearing its throat, and with a ridiculous bob of its head it began.

It was a warbling, unsteady pitch deep in the animal's throat, but then it rose and fell again, catching a rhythm with the bob of Eliza's finger while her locked shoulder kept her other arm perfectly steady for the owl. Right before Arthur could interrupt and point out the tears the bird was putting in her robe, his ear caught what was trying to happen.

It was the school song, poorly rendered, but it got a wondrous grin on the little Ravenclaw's face and the Finnigan twins shared a look before one of them, Arthur didn't know which, whispered a line of the song in time with Gus's crooning.

The twins set off Higgs, who mumbled the next few words in a staggered beat to keep up with the owl, and then when the owl couldn't remember what came next and just started repeating itself, the upperclassmen who all knew the song followed it:

"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, hoggy, warty Hogwarts! Teach us something please!"

That was all the owl could do and Eliza was beaming as she offered up the mouse and it was gobbled down whole, Scotland's owl getting an affectionate stroke on the head before it twisted its whole skull around for a proper scratch, a pleased croon warbling from its thick throat before it even head-butted her hand softly. Arthur refused to be jealous, but Eliza made an uncomfortable sound before trying to convince the owl to jump over to her other arm. It took a bit of coaxing but the animal finally did so, nipping her ear in a much _kinder_ way than it had Arthur's bruised nose before huffing into the air and beating its wings to find its usual roost up near the ceiling.

Arthur joined in the fast, eager applause because whatever his issues with the bird, he was genuinely impressed with the tamer. Even the Ravenclaw Prefect was pleased as she summoned her own owl down to carry her letter off to whoever it was for, the other two girls from her house finding their feet.

The first year girl started babbling hard at Eliza about owls being cute and adorable and so very smart, and Arthur was distracted from his misery by Italy prodding him to see if his nose was alright. He was in fact fine, the owl had bitten hard, but not pierced the skin. They looked back around in time to see the Finnigan Twins standing there, curly haired and bright eyed in front of Higgs, who was trying to say something with Scorpius there to back him up.

The nations scurried over and only caught the very end of it.

"So that's behind us, I won't be wasting my time with it."

"You call it a waste of time to go beatin' my brother up?" That one must have been Finn Finnigan then, brother who was ever so slightly taller now, thin lips a little bit tighter than his brother who was more interested in getting a look through the rafters trying to spot Gus again.

"I do. I'd rather take you lot out in the duelling club instead."

Ian Finnigan forgot about the owls and gasped instead, vibrating a little bit and dancing on his toes from excitement.

"We're in second year! We can join that now!"

"You want to? Then that means you'll be comin' to the first meeting in October then?"

"Where is it?"

"Creevey's classroom usually, but there's a duelling hall on the fifth floor too."

And just like that, whatever tension Arthur was afraid of lingering between Slytherins and Hufflepuffs evaporated in the wake of a mutual interest. Higgs was more focused on setting up more cannon-fodder for duelling matches than fussing about who was in which houses and the twins lapped it up.

The Ravenclaws left as a group and the Hufflepuffs had to go after that, leaving the Slytherins to applaud Eliza again and tease the poor girl for her success until they feared she might start to cry again.

"What about Scorpius' broom though?" It was a pleasing way to wrap up a Hogsmeade Saturday that had otherwise gone awry that afternoon. Furthermore, it led to a wonderful surprise that Tuesday morning as the Slytherins rose bright and early and trudged down to Scorpius' least favourite class with Hogwarts' most colourful instructors.

Rubeus Hagrid was a half-giant, a bit of a drinker, and made absolutely no secret of his preferences, loyalties, and damned heavy heart of gold. That groundskeeper who was so slow to ask Slytherin students what they thought or felt about the lesson's contents was bellied by the way he refused to so much as even pretend to antagonize any of them. He was ten feet of first-impressions, long, twisted dreadlocks of white hair merging seamlessly with his foot long beard that muffled his words and hid his expressions so his massive gestures had to communicate instead.

His favourite students in the class of Ravenclaws and Slytherins were Addison Miller of Ravenclaw, and Eliza Gamp of Slytherin.

His least favourite student was Scorpius.

In fact, by the end of September Arthur was convinced Hagrid _hated_ Scorpius.

But that Tuesday morning wasn't about Scorpius being told in excess of _seven times_ not to break eye-contact with the Gnome Queen he was teaching them how to diplomatically coax from the school's vegetable garden. It was about what he called the Slytherins back for not five seconds after dismissing them for the day with only a few bit fingers and sore ankles to carry off to their joint History class with Huntington and the same group of Ravenclaws.

"Gamp! Miss Gamp! A moment please!"

Eliza, unsurprisingly at this point, froze on the wet grass and then burst into nervous tears at the sound of Professor Hagrid's loud voice bellowing and booming behind them. Arthur was positioned just right to both hear what Gloria Flint said and then catch the ungentlemanly stare Scorpius shot at the back of her head. It fell to Charles to convince Ellie that she wasn't in any great trouble and that they'd stand with her if she wanted them to.

Hagrid caught up to them in his long fall jacket, a mish-mash of animal pelts and tangled white hair as he pawed along his several dozen oversized pockets looking for something in particular. He was muttering to himself and them to '_wait just a tick'_ and _'s'right here I swear t'is…_'_, _the Slytherins looking at each other nervously while Ellie dried her tears up on the edge of her robe sleeve.

"Aha!" and with a proud declaration their Care of Magical Creatures instructor pulled a burlap sack holding something heavy inside from one of his pockets, the rank smell of old dirt and grass clippings making Arthur scrunch up his nose a little and stare curiously between the other students and the half-giant. Italy was mimicking him and looked like he wanted to take a step back, but the bag was presented to Eliza with some kind of explanation from the professor.

"Now, you lot know Albus Potter an' Rose Weasley, don't cha?" Hagrid asked, hands on his knees so he could bend over and be more or less at eye level with the rest of them- minus Italy, who was at chin level with the giant. "But I don't fancy y'know their uncle Charlie Weasley-"

"Charlie?" Higgs piped up, only to get a look and a hushing hand from Hagrid.

"Aye, aye, same name- and good name too. Charles. Common enough, it is. There's even an Arthur Weasley in the family too don't cha know." Arthur did know that, but he was more interested in what one of Rose's uncles had to do with this. "Now, in his time at Hogwarts Charlie Weasley was one of the best at carin' for all kinds 'a creatures, big and small. Last I heard he was off in the Galapagos researchin' sea serpents."

"Oh," Ellie broke in, "but Professor Hagrid I'm not-"

"_Miss Eliza Gamp!_" Professor Hagrid interrupted, causing the lot of them to jump a little and the four boys to close in around her where even _Arthur_ felt a jolt watching the half-giant rise back to his full height. "I'll have you know that the gnome queen here at Hogwarts has had her colony in our vegetable garden for nearly sixty years now." He pronounced, then broke off with a curious drop of his brows under the tangled curls of his bangs.

"Sixty years? Wait…" two heavy hands with thick fingers rose and started counting, dispelling the illusion of strict authority as he lost count again at four and then dropped his hands with a heavy sigh. "It don't matter! What matters, Miss Gamp, is you're the first student in my twenty years-a teachin' who's been able to coax the queen to let up on the Halloween pumpkins. Didja get bit at all this morning, Miss Gamp?"

"N-No sir…"

"First student in a long time who can say that too." A glance at the others revealed a smile Scorpius was trying very hard to cover up and not show off behind Eliza, but Charles wasn't bothering to hide the way he was starting to puff up. "Care to show me your forearms now, Miss Gamp?"

"My _what?_"

It took a little bit of blundering and huffing until Eliza agreed to roll up her robe sleeves and then unbutton the cuff around her wrist, but Professor Hagrid was already sighing and tisking sharply just plucking his heavy fingers at the black fabric.

"Now see, none of this will do at all." He sighed, exasperated and a little sad even by the time Gamp got her sleeve half-way to her elbow and they all saw what Hagrid had been after. There were scratches and red marks all along the underside of her arm from owl claws, bruises where knobby feet had grabbed too tightly trying to keep balance. "I won't keep you Slytherins much longer since I know ya got darling Miss Huntington next class, but Miss Gamp you take this from ol' Charlie and we'll see if that don't make things better."

They were dismissed after that and had to run as fast as they could with Eliza's foul-smelling gift to reach Huntington's class on time, but the five of them burst in and went straight to their seats right as the brass clock behind her stage started tolling. They found their seats and began pulling out their books without looking up, knowing they were in at least a little trouble and determined not to insult her by making a big show of it.

Instead of losing house points, they got a scolding look that almost felt like it hurt more, and because they hadn't arrived in time they weren't offered anything off the small plate resting on the professor's desk. Arthur spotted cupcakes with fruit toppings on them part way through the lecture on Dragon hunting and decided missing out on the snack was a better way to curb tardiness than taking it out on the whole house.

The only exceptional thing about History that morning was Arthur catching sight of Eliza Gamp at her desk with Addison Miller of Ravenclaw looking like she, _maybe_, had leaned over a little to have a chat over their writing assignment for the afternoon. Ellie wasn't expected to sit out on her own during every lesson, but it was only fair that she sometimes get the short stick again now that they rotated the spare desk regularly.

Between Lunch and potions there was just enough time to cart the smelly bag back down to the common room before they had to resign themselves to another Tuesday evening sitting abandoned and unhappy in the Divination room.

Arthur made sure to bring Scotland's latest report with him as extra reading, but Italy's owl from Rome had been delayed so he snuck a muggle pencil into his bag for some doodling before they all marched up to the seventh floor.

The divination room was on the seventh floor and then up a spiral wooden staircase that pulled out of the ceiling like an attic ladder. The ceiling was quite low, and instead of desks the floor had sunken pods filled with lavish pillows, branches growing out of the rafters and columns of a classroom whose ceiling, according to older students, could open up and reveal the sky. Falling asleep was not recommended, but in fact very common.

"If Professor Malfoy's intervention didn't do something then I'm completely at a loss." Poor Miss Flint absolutely insisted on blaming Scorpius for everything to do with this class. The air was positively toxic between the Slytherins as they wandered inside to find the Hufflepuffs already settled into their seats and chatting about nothing special.

Italy had apparently either clued in about Flint's attentions over the summer, or he remembered Arthur losing his temper at the last UN meeting about not flirting with the younger years, because he pushed Higgs in Flint's way when she came at him saying there was space in her and Finnick's little pod for another person, and the two nations quickly slid down into one of the padded booths. Scorpius, Charles and Ellie quickly swept down into another one together, and the seating arrangements were finalized for the lesson.

Ten minutes after the start of class, with no instructor to be found, Arthur pulled out his report and began trying to read it silently in the dim light.

Ten minutes after that, he put the report away because the print was too small and he was too warm and comfortable to care about it. He slouched down on the cushions and gave a low sigh, shoulder to shoulder with Italy whose pencil was scratching softly at a foot of parchment he'd otherwise spilled ink on and couldn't use for assignments and note-taking. When a thin spot in the pillow under his hips made the seat too hard, he just sighed and flipped over on his shoulder, explaining himself only when he heard Italy's pencil stop rasping and then felt his arm nudge against Arthur a little bit.

"Oh shut up, you're warm." He mumbled, getting a light chuckle back from his friend before just plain pushing his face down against Italy's shoulder. "And you smell like almonds…" Italy's answer was to move his pencil again, scuffing and scratching the paper, probably smudging it with his fingertips like he usually did when he was doodling and didn't feel like being neat with his work.

However many minutes after that, with Arthur just dancing on the edge of sleep, they finally heard footsteps. He was nudged awake by Italy and what sounded like one of the Hufflepuffs hissing from the next pod for him to sit up, but it was the voice that really caught his attention:

"I will not teach the darkness how to untangle the light." It was a deep, masculine voice with something else to it that made Arthur bolt upright. The footsteps sounded like they belonged to more than one person until his mind blazed through too many other noises until landing squarely on memories of hoof-clacks and the rhythm of horses and- "I have made my quarrel clear to the Headmistress, who hides behind lies and misdirection. She would have this school bow to masked figures too cowardly to give their own names when addressed, but my brothers and I-"

_Centaur-!_

"-will not be dissuaded."

Professor Firenze, if that's who it was whose thick curls masked with green rose up from a place unseen at the front of the chamber, was not a wizard in the classical sense or a human being of the most remote kind. The curled back stubs of ram horns protruding from the top of his head proclaimed age and wisdom that the rippled muscles of his bare chest and arms enforced with tattooed skin bearing star-bursts and ranking bands.

A siren went off between Arthur's ears that he tried to immediately calm and quiet down as the animal half of the Professor's body revealed itself with hooves of silver capping legs with strong muscles and bristled black fur. Professor Firenze's hooves cracked against the chamber's wooden floor and the leaves over Arthur and Italy's heads curled up with a shy whisper, the two nations looking up and drawing quick glances from their classmates as well. There was a sense of alarm running through the children because Arthur could taste it: there was aggression coming off Professor Firenze in waves.

"Tell me your name." The heavy, aggressive stomping of his hooves came to an end in front of Flint and Finnick, who were clutching each other's hands and looked on the brink of tears from their mutual terror.

"G-" But Miss Flint was absolutely not to be out-done. "Gloria Flint, sir! Slytherin, I- from House Flint!" She reached beyond Hogwarts to find whatever information would satisfy the centaur, and it seemed to work because he turned pale blue eyes on Finnick next as she squeaked out her name in much the same way.

"Margaret Finnick of Slytherin! Daughter of-" She gave her mother's name, surprisingly, not her father's before Firenze strode away from their little pod of pillows on the floor and kept the same stately, fierce pace as he approached the next three Slytherins. His breaths were snorting loudly from his nose, like he was trying to catch the scent of something foul and didn't know where it was coming from, only that it was in this chamber.

"E-Elizabeth Gamp of House Gamp, in Kent." Ellie's face should have been runny-nosed and terrified, but her eyes were wide open and she seemed more entranced than afraid as she spoke, and if it was courage then she passed some of that on to Scorpius, who went so far as to stand up.

He choked on a breath and broke eye-contact with the centaur, then held out a hand.

"Scorpius Malfoy of House Malfoy in Wiltshire, England. A p- a pleasure to meet you, sir."

Professor Firenze didn't shake his hand, but he did touch the offered palm with two calloused fingers as a way of acknowledging the gesture and allowing Scorpius to collapse bonelessly back down onto the lavender pillow that caught him. He was visibly shaking as Higgs tried to mimick him only to trip on his own robe before he could stand and flop over on his hands and knees, mouth gaping trying to figure out what to do.

So Higgs did what Higgs always did, clapping his hands on the floor to push himself up onto his haunches, hands on his thighs like a drill instructor with his weight sliding to rest on his knees. He stared straight up, sucked a deep breath into his gut and:

"Charles Higgs of House Higgs, _sir!_" The centaur's pointed ears flinched back at the noise he made and his lips twitched like he would bare his teeth, but then with a long draw in through the nose Arthur was almost _sure_ he saw those blue eyes go very narrow before he turned away.

"_Get your things-_" Arthur hissed under his breath, hand closed around Italy's wrist as he heard a muffled _'What?'_ from the other nation and then it was too late: Firenze was over them.

And he was _outraged._

"_Lie_." Centaur's were not meant to be aggressive animals, and so much asking around the school had made Firenze out to be one of the most gentle and laid-back of all instructors at Hogwarts. "Lie to me, spin your falsehoods and _see_ if I can be fooled like the rest of them." Just the way his tongue curled back like a viper behind his teeth, a glow coming off his eyes and power humming through the air along with all the aggression that felt like it was coming down to wall them off from the rest of their class.

Arthur had his feet under him and was ready to jump up and flee, but either Italy felt bolder or twice as afraid because his hands were frozen on parchment and books only half-put away in his lap. The shaking Arthur felt told him it was the latter though: Italy wasn't getting ready to fight: he was trying to work up the energy he'd need to go flying from danger.

"We-"

"I-"

It didn't matter what they were going to say because the Centaur knew- it _knew_ what they were and Firenze let a deep roar out of his gut before rearing up on his hind-legs, Arthur heard himself scream before he and Italy were both scrambling back as fast as they could over pillows and the shelf of the classroom floor. The wild beast in front of them slammed both front hooves down so hard on the note-taking bench spread across the pod that it shattered where their legs had just been, and Arthur barely scrambled to grab his bag with one hand before he and Italy turned and took off running for the stairs and safety.

"_Leaving! We're leaving!"_

"_Leaving and we're never coming back!"_

"_Do not __**ever**__ set foot in this classroom again!_"

Firenze's voice chased them down the empty hall from the divination staircase, something that didn't even lower itself all the way before Arthur flung himself down and he heard Italy slam on the floor behind him. They went at a flat sprint and shot down the first flight of stairs they saw, terror making Arthur's insides vibrate so the only way to function was to scream with Italy's wails to match him.

No sense, no thought, no way to calm down or find a way not to be what everyone in this haunted, horrible place already thought them: children running in terror from a nightmare of a teacher.

Arthur only stopped running because Italy broke away ahead of him and Arthur slammed into someone who turned a corner right in front of him. It didn't knock him back, but he spun with the collision and skidded to his knees and then his hands before letting himself collapse on the marble floor, heart slamming in his ears and gagging up his throat so he could barely breathe. But he could hear.

"What- what on earth? Mister Kirkla- _Mister Vargas!_" Professor McGonagall's shrill voice called after Italy but it was no good, he was long gone, and just that thought made Arthur do something mad: he started to laugh.

"You…!" And he rolled straight onto his back, flopping a little bit on the floor because he was shaking still and baffled by his own terror now that he wasn't running away from it anymore. He saw Professor McGonagall standing there looking wide-eyed and completely stupefied by him, Professor Huntington of all the kind and good-natured people holding the Headmistress's frail arm where she must have stumbled after being ran into by him. "You- You batty old witch!"

Oh, he was going to get detention for that.

"_Arthur!_" Professor Huntington shrieked.

"Mister Kirkland what on _earth_-?"

"_You_ have _centaur_ for a _teacher!_" He was laughing too hard to care about detention, because when his declaration didn't clear anything up for her Arthur just howled behind his hands and kicked his feet on the floor where he was still laying there on his back. Was he crying a little bit? Yes, those felt like humiliated, flabbergasted tears.

"Vargas and I are quitting Divination." He spoke the words with a feeble ounce of self-respect before feeling himself give another snort and giggle sharply under his breath. He tried sitting up and sort of made it.

"You can't drop a class you've only just started!" Thank you, Miss Huntington _but_:

"Well I just did." Arthur opened his hands like shutters on a window and smiled up at the very first irate expression he'd ever seen on Professor Huntington's otherwise jovial face. "And I don't give a hoot about the double detention I am _never_ setting foot in that classroom again!"

"Professor Huntington," Professor McGonagall might not have been clueing in, but when a Nation's physical manifestation disguised as a child proclaimed for itself and another National Persona that it was never, ever, ever in a million years going to go back to a class at her school, she seemed to understand the weight of the decision. The Headmistress reversed her hold on the younger Professor, turning it into a mothering clasp of her hand and a gentle pat on her wrist. "Alice, why don't you go and track down Mister Vargas while I handle Mister Kirkland? At the speed he was going I'd wager he's half-way to London by now." And then she flashed the sort of smile that would put any Grandmother to shame.

"Of course, Headmistress."

"If he proves troublesome then simply pop in on Professor Malfoy for help, he should be instructing the Advanced Potions classes down in the dungeon this afternoon."

Professor Huntington sped away with an awkward look back but a very clear sense of understanding, and once the coast was clear the witch and the nation shared a funny moment of silence. He let McGonagall break it first.

"How do you like Miss Huntington as an instructor, Mister Kirkland?"

"I think she's quite lovely, really." Arthur sniffed hard and then used no magic at all to shake a Slytherin hanky from his pocket, wiping off the tears and sweat from his screaming before deciding that no, he didn't want to stand up just yet.

"I'm pleased you think so."

"That's who I'll be serving detention with, then?"

"Oh, Mister Kirkland," such a dame, Headmistress Minerva McGonagall, a sorcerous with the strict control to give Arthur a doting smile that told him exactly how sick she was of having him in her school. "Detention _indeed._"

And then with a crook of two fingers, Arthur Kirkland was summoned to his feet and followed his Headmistress diligently up to her office.

* * *

**I was determined to get plot in there and by God did it fight me. Centaurs, man.**


	33. What Does The Howler Say?

**Blinding.**

**Chapter title is pulled directly from that annoying song going around on tumblr.**

* * *

_**Snakeskins**_

What Does the Howler Say?

By the end of that week Feliciano and England were officially excused from all Divination Lessons, but that didn't stop the details from going into Feliciano's little book. There wasn't much the two of them could say to their classmates about the change either, on the one hand students like Charles and David Baker from Hufflepuff understood without question that being stampeded by a centaur was all the reason someone needed to drop a class, and on the other Scorpius and Ellie were still concerned but too terrified of receiving the same treatment to ask Firenze. Ultimately it was Scorpius who put his foot down and refused, on Italy and Arthur's behalf, to let Flint march her fussy little way back up to the Infirmary and bother Professor Malfoy.

Flint and Scorpius simply weren't on speaking terms for the rest of October.

Aside from their new classes where Ellie excelled with creatures and there was all that excitement with fortune-telling, nothing had really changed from the end of second year through the first month of third.

Feliciano avoided Slytherin's Quidditch try-outs for the new year to replace Thomas Higgs and several other players by going around and cataloguing the remaining paintings in the school, finding it harder than ever to get them to speak to him. There were also so many other missing portraits this year that, even if he couldn't remember what they'd looked like because he hadn't paid attention before, he knew they were missing because of the gaps on the walls.

Halloween, for all its glowing candles and impressive extra-large pumpkins this year (which were thanks to Ellie, and all of Slytherin made sure to voice their appreciation!), was extremely quiet for the ghosts. Nearly Headless Nick nearly didn't make an appearance, and the Fat Friar hovered very quietly high above the tables without deigning to come down for more than a few minutes at a time.

Other smaller, lesser known ghosts did come around however, including one surprise visit that almost made Feliciano shriek like a little girl when he agreed to _one last piece_ of pumpkin pie.

"Such a sad little table you lot are." The slice of pie was lifted up over a barely-there face embedded in the plate and Feliciano made a noise that was not a shriek before Scorpius burst out laughing at him. The face pushed its way up through the plate and was followed by two limp pig-tails and a collared white shirt with a colourless tie, a Hogwarts school vest and set of robes with a familiar cut all forming along with the scratched up face of a house badge that Feliciano couldn't read. "Another Ghostless Halloween for Slytherin. Such a pity, the Baron always was so unbearable at this time of year."

"It's not ghostless if you're here, Myrtle!" Charles laughed, snatching floating chocolates out of the air as they zipped around the bag his brother had sent for the third years to share. The treats were shaped like a Quidditch set: seven tiny caramel broomsticks, a chocolate-covered cherry quaffle, two almond bludgers, and a small golden macadamia nut that Scorpius had already swiped and eaten as soon as it flew out of the package.

"You're only saying that because I'm _DEAD!_" So this was Moaning Myrtle, the ghost that had terrified Feliciano last year after an awful run in with James Potter outside Gryffindor tower. He hadn't actually seen her face, but the way her deflated cheeks hollowed out and her jaw dropped to show the great black void inside of her as she wailed the words sent a chill down his spine just the same.

"But you can still sit with us, Myrtle!" Ellie stood up at the table and accidentally took a bludger almond in the cheek, a smear of chocolate left on her skin as she grabbed the treat hard in one fist and gave Higgs such a look that he almost crawled under the table. "It's Halloween! I bet you've seen some wonderful Hogwarts pranks over the years, haven't you?"

"That's _Peeves_ you should ask," the ghost sulked, hovering there in the middle of the table. "But he's gone forever- just like the Baron! It's just as expected too, someone goes around killing Ghosts and forgets all about _me!_ No sense hunting down stupid _ugly_ Myrtle, she'll just cry in her toilet all day, no sense wasting time putting an end to _her_ afterlife!"

Feliciano choked on the pumpkin juice he'd tried drinking while listening to the ghost, meaning England beat him to the punch when they all heard what she said but only the nations seemed to _understand_ it.

"Hold on, Myrtle," He interrupted, earning a snuffling glare from Moaning Myrtle as she stared at his outstretched hand like it offended her. "Are you saying someone's _hunting_ the ghosts?"

"Well it's plain obvious, isn't it!?" She howled, too angry to run away and waving her arms so Feliciano felt a chill across his face. "Everybody's talking about it, especially if you're _dead! _The Grey Lady thinks she's so wonderful because she escaped, but I tell you this: she isn't wearing that veil over her face because she's sad! She never cared a wit for the Baron, she's a _liar_; _I HATE LIARS._"

The closest thing they had to a lead was incredibly hard to act on, because the Grey Lady not only refused to make more than a few brief, fleeting appearances all evening, but Felicaino had never actually seen her before _except_ on Halloween.

He spent the first week of November trying harder than ever to make any of the Ravenclaw students in their combined classes talk to him, only to have no room for it in History where they were expected to listen to Professor Huntington speak and then work in absolute silence from their textbooks for the remainder of the class. In Transfiguration where Feliciano excelled, Professor Parkinson had changed their seating arrangements and had him placed at the front of the class directly in front of her. This made it easier to earn points for excellent work in her class, but it was impossible to speak to the Ravenclaws without getting one of them in trouble for '_distracting' _him.

His best bet was looking like he'd have to go through Ellie, who spent the majority of every Care of Magical Creatures class hovering somewhere around Addison Miller. The Miller girl didn't want much to do with the Slytherins at first- they hadn't made friends over the previous two years so why start now?

But Feliciano still wanted to try, just like he _wanted_ to keep encouraging Eliza to take the class seriously and not let the same people who laughed about his History mark get under her skin about how much the Clabberts liked her or the noises the Blast-ended Skrewts made when it was her turn to feed them.

He wanted to focus on those things, but something else got in his way before he could.

Except it was more like the something else just _wouldn't_ come.

_"It's been two months and I haven't heard a single thing from you!_" At first it had been nice enjoying Saturday mornings in the great hall without getting screamed at by Lovino's voice, but as November kept slipping by Feliciano was more worried than he wanted to admit. He didn't mind staying up a little later in the owlery on a Friday night after Astronomy to pen what had to be at least his fourth unanswered letter back to Rome, but with his wand out and tracing several patterns over the paper before he touched the quill to the smooth surface, he was going to make sure South Italy got this one and knew to answer him.

_"It's alright if everything's okay, but at least send me a message saying it's okay! Tell me what the weather's like, let me know how the world cup preparations are going! What about the election you said should be coming up soon? You have to tell me SOMETHING!"_

So he repaid Lovino for two years of embarrassed looks in the great hall, and sent a Howler to Rome instead.

"Vargas, is that a shield charm you just cast on yourself?" Scorpius was the first one to notice the precautious Feliciano the next morning, knowing it was too soon for the owl he'd sent off to make it all the way to Rome with the delivery, but he figured there was no time like the present to brush up on his defensive magic!

"Mhmm! Physical and Mystic protection! What do you think?"

Scorpius finished off the pumpkin juice in his breakfast goblet, holding a finger up to show he had an answer and just needed to swallow, then whipped his arm back and threw the silver cup straight at Felicaino's face across the table.

There was the indescribable sound of sheet-metal warping and then bouncing back into shape before the cup was sent back across the table and struck the wooden surface with a clatter, tumbling end over end until Scorpius snatched it back up with a laugh and then checked the rim of the goblet to make sure it wasn't damaged.

"You gonna wear that to duelling club tomorrow?" Saturdays were Hogsmeade days and Sunday was when clubs and Quidditch practices took place, at least in Slytherin, and Feliciano just shook his head no while taking a bite out of the apple he split into slices with his wand.

"That wouldn't be very fair! This is just practice in case-"

A loud screeching cut Feliciano off and silenced the chatter in the hall with its alien voice, eyes going up towards the happy white clouds of the hall's enchanted ceiling as the usual Saturday post was beaten by the sharp beat of black wings hammering the air far head of the usual drowsy, lulling flock of owls.

"Uh oh..." It wasn't an owl that was scanning the rows of tables and then honed in on the Slytherins with their breakfast, but a white-breasted black bird with a long black beak that swept and dove several times with smoke trailing from its claws like an angry, vicious comet.

"Vargas, _what did you do?_" England hissed at him and Feliciano found himself reaching out for the student sitting next to him- a fourth year who just twisted around curiously as Feliciano tried to figure out if he was going to get up and run or dive under the table and crawl away.

"That's not possible-" Oh god was that _another one?_ "I sent it last night! There's no way it could have reached Rome or he could answer me-!" Unless the two smoking letters with black bird carriers had already been _on their way_ when he-

The fourth year clued in.

The entire _table_ clued in.

"Vargas, run!"

"What did you send him-?"

"A howler-"

"_YOU SENT THE HOWLER A __**HOWLER!?**__"_

"Run and don't stop!"

"Call your broom now: it's your only chance!"

He did, to his credit, try to run. Feliciano bolted from the table and made it about half-way to the chamber doors before one of the crows circling overhead cawed again and then dropped the first howler right over him, and Lovino must have installed a very short fuse because it exploded with a sudden bang while still in mid-air.

A small thunderbolt cracked the stone floor right in front of him and Feliciano's feet slipped, sending him to the floor with one hand catching him hard on the stones. The smoke from the blast immediately took on a solid presence that distinctly mirrored his brother in size and form, chasing him back several paces as it lunged forward with wide, powerful steps and South Italy's voice raised to the rafters in archaic Latin:

"_You pig-fucking doormat!"_ It was almost as terrifying as the real thing._ "I'm on __**vacation**__ you self-entitled __**shit-stain**__!" _His words had to be archaic and it had to be a brand of Vulgar Latin that only himself and Grandpa Rome would have remembered, because Lovino had to keep his voice _out_ of modern- "_Vacation! Something you're so fucking smothered with having your precious __**weekends**__ and__** field trips**__ and __**clubs**__ and worthless shit! Whereas I have to deal with __**Darling**__**Presidente la SHIT-EATER**__ who I won't even get into because __**MY**__ carbon-crusted lungs aren't worth __**half a goat**__ to the entire damned assembly! FURTHERMORE-_"

The smoke fell apart and the faceless, featureless form of his brother lost its voice to the stunned silence of the school. Feliciano could feel his heart slamming his throat and a dark flush creeping up his face, but took a deep breath to try and calm down, dragging one leg back under himself so he could sta-

_BANG!_

Right, there were two:

"_**FURTHERMORE! **__I've spent half my god-damned vacation refurbishing that __**SAINTS CURSED LOT**__ in piss-water Venezia of all disgusting places! And before you bother asking: __**NO! I DON'T CARE IF MILANO IS THE CENTRE OF WIZARDING ITALY! I WOULD RATHER CASTRATE MYSELF AND THROW THE POPE IN THE STRAIGHT OF MESSINA THAN CRAWL BACK INTO THAT DEVIL'S COLON OF A HOUSE."**_

"_SO I'M DOING FINE, THANK YOU FOR ASKING."_ Now you see he was starting to sound calmer and even spilled into standard Italian, but Feliciano kept his arms up over his head and face down against the cold stone floor just the same. "_BUT __**NEXT TIME**__-" _See? _"DON'T YOU __**DARE**__-" _Oh god- _"PULL A STUNT LIKE THAT AGAIN, ESPECIALLY WHEN I'M IN A __**FUCKING VENETIAN PUBLIC MARKET!**_"

The second Howler disintegrated, a tiny puff of blue smoke from its core dropping something with real weight and substance to it that clattered hard on the floor in the shape of a rectangular package wrapped in brown paper and twine. Feliciano barely lifted his head to get a look at it. The sound of two crows cawing to each other like laughter as they flew out of the hall and away from the school was the only noise for several tense, mortifying seconds.

But when he did look up, he saw the whole of Ravenclaw table just _staring _at him. The Slytherin Prefects looked too stunned to move and drag him up and off the floor, and the first human noises to try and brush over the silence came from Gryffindors who started whispering before the Hufflepuffs did the same thing. _Howler, Howler:_ he was going to be hearing about this for _weeks_.

Howlers at Slytherin table were something most of the school was used to, he'd been getting them bi-weekly for two solid years and only the first years had been spared the treatment before. But Lovino had never sent two and Feliciano had never let one _burst_.

When he finally heard footsteps was when he was carefully getting up to his feet, holding the elbow of the arm that had caught him and flexing his fingers and wrist making sure he hadn't accidentally hurt this fragile body by falling like that. He was fine until he looked up at Professor Huntington's face.

Professor Alice Huntington's pure white, absolutely livid face.

"Professore- _agh!_" Her hand with brightly painted orange nails lashed out and grabbed his ear, a lock of hair, and even part of his jaw before twisting and yanking him to come with her. The indignity of being snatched up like an animal made him yell and dig his feet in until he was jerked to just come along or lose his ear all together, and with only the sound of his feet scuffing and knocking on the floor trying to keep up he was dragged out of the great hall without a word of explanation.

Once they were past the door and Feliciano tried to say her name again, the Professor released his face only to grab his shirt by the collar instead, his robes and uniform down in the dorms because it was a Saturday and a grey sweater with blue jeans was fine for going around in November with.

She didn't answer him and didn't explain, changing her grip two more times as they stormed up several flights of stairs and took so many wild turns Feliciano almost assumed she'd lost her way. Trying to ask _where_ they were going just caused her to make furious little noises that weren't cute and were beginning to terrify him: where had the nice professor gone?

By the time he heard the infirmary doors open Feliciano was completely baffled, but he was finally released when Professor Huntington stormed into the middle of the room and:

"_Professor Malfoy!_"

There was the far away and sorry sound of crunching toast, and then an uneasy squeak from a ferret before Feliciano looked down and saw Professor Malfoy's familiar Bella standing by his ankle, tiny paws on his calf and dark eyes actually carrying as much confusion as he was honestly feeling.

Professor Malfoy himself was sitting stunned at the desk at the back of the infirmary before his office door, a half-eaten breakfast and cup of tea at his elbows and a stack of what were probably students' potions essays in front of him. He had a red quill in one hand and a corner piece of toast in the other, the same purple jam on the bread staining the corner of his mouth.

The Nation, the Doctor, and the Ferret all shared a brief look but none of them came away from it with any answers. Professor Huntington looked like she was getting ready to burst and was huffing irritably where she was standing between Feliciano and the door, so it was up to Professor Malfoy to get it together and _help him_.

"Professor Huntington," And Scorpius' father did deliver, putting his food and work away and standing up. He quickly took a gulp of tea from his cup to wash away the sweetness of the toast and with the appearance of a white square of cloth he cleaned away the trace of jam all while moving out from behind the desk without appearing unduly anxious or confused. "Is there something I can help you with? Is Mister Vargas injured?"

"Professor Malfoy," The questions gave Huntington leave to speak and _speak she did._ "As Head of Slytherin House you absolutely must write a letter immediately to Mister Vargas' family. I can't even tell you if it should or should _not_ be to his elder brother!" Feliciano didn't know if he liked that tone of voice being used about Lovino, but he didn't say anything as Professor Malfoy made a gentle sound and nodded his head.

"Ah yes, Saturday isn't it? And just past nine so the post must have come not long ago: a howler, Mister Vargas?"

"Two, sir."

"Two?" Professor Malfoy just smiled a little bit and Feliciano was beginning to feel the honest sting of fear in his system from the _tension_ behind him in Huntington. "A late response to your Quidditch escapades with James Potter? And here I thought he'd taken to writing normal letters to you."

Feliciano took a breath, shifted his weight, and told the truth along with waiting for whatever was going on behind him to boil over. Professor Huntington had told him she spoke Italian because she'd gone abroad for work and study in his territory, but only the last _part_ of Lovino's letter had been standard.

"Err, actually Professor: I haven't heard from him since I left to stay at Kirkland's house before the express. So, you see: I was getting a little worried and- ah, last night after Astronomy I sent him something."

"It must have moved very quickly if he not only received it but his reply made it in this morning." There was a knowing glint to his smile now and Feliciano wished he wasn't so uncomfortable being led along by the nose to make an admission. "Did you send your bother a howler, Mister Vargas?"

"Only a little one!" He insisted, detention looming in front of him and not what he wanted from his Saturday at all! "Half the volume of his normal ones, I swear!"

"And I assume his reply was something to the effect of '_never again'_?"

"He accused him of sodomizing a_ pig!_" Feliciano's mind… stopped. "On top of several other things I _dare_ not repeat. Professor Malfoy this kind of behaviour is absolutely unacceptable- I would even dare to call it _illegal_ and-"

"Huntington." Feliciano still wasn't thinking, his thoughts were stalled about thirty seconds ago in frigid, blank space. He barely saw Professor Malfoy raise a hand but he did feel the Healer's attention focus heavily over him like an unwanted blanket, and if his palms were sweating then he told himself it was from humiliation, not fear. "Mister Vargas, would you care to explain?"

He didn't, he was still reeling: playing the words over in his head. Not the meaning, the actual _words_ themselves.

"That's not what it meant."

"_Oh_, I _beg_ to differ!" Who was she? Some American scholar who marched back into Feliciano's line of sight and looked like she was going to scold both him and his head of house at any moment. To try and speak like a child about something he knew so intimately was insulting, because that was what kept tying his mind in knots: colloquialism, equivalent phrases, what child would know those sorts of terms in a second or _third_ language so he could argue with a superior? "While I admire your penchant for languages, Mister Vargas, a boy such as yourself _cannot _be expected to understand the nuances of the verb form your brother-"

"_Fallen Latin is my mother tongue."_ So he slipped from a learned language back beyond standard Tuscan Italian and filed down his own teeth as he went. He watched the shock and understanding pass over the affronted face of the woman lording over him and he felt himself longing for the next time he would stand and know he was physically taller than her. "_I see you understand me and I admire you for your dedication, Professor Huntington, but I know the intricacies and nuances better than any scholarly speaker. These are the words I was weaned on by my Grandfather, and what the world knows as standard Italian is the Tuscan dialect I was pressured to learn by my brothers and sisters. Do not bastardize my brother's meaning by forcing it into a language as ill-contrived and poorly maintained as English."_

He obviously forgot about the _'filing down his teeth' _part and realized it as soon as the last of the sounds left his throat. He opened his mouth to apologize but then held it back. Why say sorry if he wasn't?

"I… believe I got the gist of that just by watching your faces. Mister Vargas, how many points could I fairly remove from Slytherin for that bit of back-talk?" Oh, it was so hard to force himself back into English after what he'd just said about it, but with the agony of lowering his eyes down to stare straight through Professor Huntington's pale pink robes instead of at her infuriated eyes, he relented.

"About twenty, sir."

"Then that will be ten points from Slytherin." And somehow Professor Malfoy found a compromise by halving the number that Feliciano didn't expect. "Will you be tasking him with detention on top of lost points, Professor?"

"I will." House points and detention: that still didn't make him feel sorry. "You're a member of Creevey's Duelling club, aren't you, Vargas?" He didn't answer the question, he was too busy cinching his lips together to work up the nerve for a polite reply. "Very well, then. That meets at two o'clock so I'll expect you in my classroom at that time tomorrow, understood?"

"Si," was as close as he got to acceptable.

"And I trust that you will make sure this is handled?" The way her robes swished around her as she spun around on Malfoy spoke for how much of the anger was mutual, but there was an affronted note in Professor Malfoy's voice that made Feliciano feel like he still came out the winner.

"You can _trust_, Professor Huntington; that I will consider the matter and proceed from there."

"But you _will_ write to him?"

"I will _consider_ it."

"Malfoy it's _abuse!_"

"Vargas you're dismissed." He didn't expect his name in the middle of what was building but Professor Malfoy's voice was unexpectedly sharp and loud, blowing over Huntington's half-heard declaration before it could set Feliciano's temper on fire.

He wanted out of the situation more than he wanted to stand there and watch one of Hogwarts' established Professors turn around and put a junior teacher in her place. He wanted away from the anger and the negativity: he didn't like being around those kinds of things and he hated being involved with them even more. He turned around and put himself on auto-pilot to get out of the infirmary, half-conscious of the silence he left behind and the ferret scampering after his heels. The only attempt to break the silence was crushed by Professor Malfoy hissing wordlessly under his breath, and the infirmary doors swung open before Feliciano was close enough to set them off normally.

He wasn't mad about the duelling club, he was an adult- _more_ than just an adult and an hour of club activities with a bunch of kids wasn't close to the end of his world. He wasn't mad about detention either because part of him had known, intrinsically _understood_, that as soon as he broke from English he would get what he deserved.

But he was mad. In fact, as he whipped out his wand and cracked its tip against the wall to open up the secret passage down to the dungeons, he heard his teeth grinding long before he actually felt the pain of it. He was furious, and he couldn't find it in him to break into a flat run and try to find an escape from it.

Feliciano had almost exposed himself, the mature mind hiding inside a weak and tiny body had almost come bursting out to the surface because patriotism and fraternity were _so strong_ that he knew he couldn't imagine seeing things from any other side but his. How dare she, how _dare _she even _try_ to extend authority that wasn't even hers!

Alice Huntington of the United States?

Feliciano Vargas would have a letter ready for Rome to find out _exactly_ who she really was.


	34. Vargas of Italy

_**Snakeskins**_

Vargas of Italy

Of all the Wizards and Witches Italy could have upset, Professor Alice Huntington had to be the absolute worst choice in the school.

It wasn't even clear how or by what means he'd managed such a deep offense. She'd repeatedly fumbled when trying to handle his complete ineptitude in her class, occasionally grown exasperated with his complete inability to follow her lectures or remember even the simplest of dates and exercises, but that wasn't enough for the way things changed after South Italy's howlers.

It was as if as soon as she heard the name "Lovino Vargas" for the first time, her luke-warm opinion of Italy hit rock-bottom.

Arthur had fulfilled his Best Friend obligation to Italy by snatching up the package dropped by South Italy's storm of howlers before Huntington had realized there was something worth doubling back to the great hall for, and he'd run the delivery down to the dungeons as fast as thirteen year old legs could carry him. Scorpius and the others had followed him after the intense desperation of not knowing where to go: follow their friend who was in the clutches of their nicest instructor, or run and hide in the dormitory praying Italy wasn't returned in a pine box.

It took less than an hour for him to open the Common Room door, and Arthur had never seen Italy look quite so furious in that tiny body of his. If he'd been angry on the Quidditch Pitch on that blustery September afternoon, then he was down-right murderous in November and not even a new set of paint-brushes from his brother (lacking paint, mind you) could cure him.

"_Don't touch me!_" He also refused to speak a word of straight English for the rest of the day, burying himself in Italian and only straying once or twice into full Latin before sinking right into his official language. _"Don't talk to me! I don't want to talk about it! There is nothing to talk about!"_ He'd gone straight down to the dormitory, fetched his book bag and quills, and then left in a storm up to what they assumed was either going to be the library or the owlery when Ellie very _hesitantly_ insisted that they follow him for his own good.

It was the owlery, and his fury scared the birds away as he sat down one of the tables and scarred several pieces of parchment with furious quill marks and a great deal more ink and vigor than was necessary. His penmanship was irate and yet pristine, clear enough with its outraged slant that Arthur was able to read the Italian phrase for _"dig up everything you can!_" before Italy hissed at him to back off and leave him to calm down.

"I don't need a babysitter! I am not a child!" Well he was certainly acting like one but Arthur was wise enough not to say so. Feliciano Vargas did not _get_ angry, but he was beyond words for the rest of that Saturday.

And after his detention on Sunday, he appeared just about ready to commit murder.

"Grammar!" Arthur wasn't in the duelling club, but Charles was convinced that was why Italy's mood was so foul because he was intentionally forced to miss their two hour practice meeting for- "Sixteen pages of prepositions and pronunciation drills! _Sixteen!_"

"Better grammar than goblins?" was the best Arthur could come up with and it really only made the situation worse. Feliciano was so bitter that he didn't even go down to dinner on Sunday, which was the opposite of effective because the only thing worse than an angry Italian was a hungry one. Instead he spent the entire evening curled up in his bed, seething and violently flipping through his little black book of inquiry notes.

That last part was what got Arthur really worried. He was concerned enough that he followed Italy's lead and penned a letter to Scotland asking, reluctantly, for the same information Italy had already demanded of Rome. Who the devil was this witch who understood fast and fluent Vulgar Latin, especially the kind that was about as literally vulgar as the language's name only suggested?

The answer took until their next History of Magic lesson to come to them, although it came in a very unsavoury package. By the time their week was half over Italy's anger had retreated back beneath the surface and he was his amicable self again who apologized for behaving so rudely to the rest of their classmates. He performed as expected in all of their classes and even seemed ready to move on from what had happened that weekend when they arrived in History of Magic. Italy even allowed himself to be corralled into a seat next to Gloria Flint, who was already a-flutter for having helped him finish his history homework that morning.

Professor Huntington was a ray of sunshine, a breath of fresh-air, an extremely fair witch with an honest love of her subject.

But contrary to whatever illusions the rest of them may have conjured about her being laid back and something of a doormat for never taking away house points, she proved the Ravenclaw and Slytherin third years completely wrong. If you somehow wound up in the incredible position of being at odds with beloved Professor Huntington, she would make your life a living hell.

Especially if you were otherwise the weakest student in her class.

"Mister Vargas, can you list three reasons why the execution of Goliath Gargle in the 8th century was so devastating for the Welsh Wizarding Association in the early decades of the 9th?"

Italy was flabbergasted and Arthur only raised his hand because he knew the name and didn't have to go scrambling the way Flint did through their textbook trying to find it. Huntington ignored him.

She let the class hang in silence for well over a stifling minute, only releasing Vargas from her stare when Arthur gave up and lowered his hand.

"Then can you recall what we discussed last class on the nature of Northumbrian Sorcery Policies in the same time period?"

Arthur barely remembered those policies because he and Scotland had worked together to _repeal _them, so he had no idea what kind of off-hand comment Huntington could have made about them in this class. His hand went up, Flint was scrambling madly through her class notes looking for the answer, and a quick glance at the Ravenclaws showed Addison Miller and one of her friends staring straight through their desks with baffled expressions all around.

"So much for review then." Arthur didn't like the new atmosphere in the History classroom, and he desperately wished Italy had sat next to him instead so they could at least whisper about it under their breath. "Everyone please turn your attention to the map."

Professor Huntington's wall mural, beyond its lovingly crafted animations of cloud and ocean, was able to zoom in and pane over intricately detailed landscapes much like a satellite program in a muggle classroom. She directed it with her wand tip to focus on Europe and then zoom in down on the Italian Penninsula. A painted calendar on the corner spun back further and further as the borders inked across the territory began to blend and fade and squirm around each other.

Arthur had to admit he was as intrigued as Italy must have been by the change in focus, and when the wheels stopped spinning and the borders settled into unfamiliar forms of the 9th century Italian city-states, Arthur got the cold feeling that his and Italy's skills in History were about to reverse themselves.

"Before we can properly discuss the effects of contraband wand materials and techniques, it's imperative that we understand where _most_ of those materials were entering Europe from. Two major sources of mystic contraband were Scandinavia by way of northern expeditions across the north pole into Siberia, and along the far more lucrative muggle trading routes of the near east and Italy."

She structured her introduction to the unit the same way she had every other one. The map showed them the cities and territories they needed to make note of, then came a list of Wizards and their families who would be coming up throughout the next months' worth of lectures. There was another uncomfortable twinge through the classroom when the enchanted piece of chalk Professor Huntington was using to list the names suddenly stopped in mid-air and the professor turned an eye back on the assembled students.

"And finally…" Arthur just wanted to put his quill and his head down on the desk, because he was coming ever closer to sending a letter off to Alfred with concise demands to know why _exactly_ Miss Huntington had felt the need to leave her homeland. "You have the Vargas Clan, with its various family branches in Milan, Turin, Florence, Venice, Rome, Naples, and the Islands of Sicily and Sardinia, not to mention smaller homesteads in Bologna, San Marino, Seborga, and across the Papal States highlighted in blue."

There was a quiet sense of wonder before attention swung around positively on Italy this time, the size of the Vargas name and their upgrade from Family to Clan not lost on any of the children. Italy didn't squirm or try to deny it either, and if Professor Huntington was trying to antagonize Italy further with her next comment, she failed and it actually wound up being an almost amicable exchange.

"Were you aware of your family's extent, Mister Vargas?"

"Si, Professore." Oh, Arthur didn't like the narrow little look Professor Huntington gave him over her smile for answering in Italian. But again, this exchange was civil. "Now adays most of these branches are dead, but it will be nice to hear about them, I think."

"Can you name all of the surviving Vargas Branches?"

"Of course." The brief silence that hung between them was clearly a sign for him to do so, and Huntington raised both eyebrows with an expectant look on her face. Arthur didn't know if she expected Vargas to fail or if she was hoping he could live up to the expectation. Arthur himself wasn't worried. "The two main branches are Venezia and Napoli, which have a combined household in Roma. We have a few minor cousins in San Marino, Vaticano and Seborga, but Roma is where everyone does their business."

"I think you mean _Rome._ The main branches are Venice, Naples, and Rome." She honestly corrected him for using the Latin names instead of the English versions, and Arthur swallowed hard trying to get the second hand embarrassment out of his throat where it was choking him. Italy didn't comment at all, but his quill did scratch something out on the page and re-write a few words where he was sitting a row ahead of Arthur.

"Class, I speak from experience when I say that it is extremely difficult to make any kind of progress with the study of Wizarding Italy without encountering Mr. Vargas' family in some way, shape, or form. But in order to understand the decisions of the British Wizarding community during the 9th and 10th centuries, we must look at where the vast majority of the European Dark Arts found their beginnings." Hold on…

Arthur had been trying to look down at his notes where the list of names over Vargas' was… not exactly familiar, but the fact that at least a few of them felt like perhaps he'd heard or said them before… But he would have felt the same way about any set of inventors or great thinkers. He looked up when heard a piece of chalk- and not the usual pale blue or soft yellow of Huntington's lectures, but rather a very ugly, livid green- rose up and scratched itself in a jagged way around the list of names. The name Vargas was written half an inch taller than any of the others as well.

"These are the names of the seven most powerful black magic families in Italian history, all of whom were active throughout the time period we have been discussing. You will do well to remember them for the rest of this unit."

For whatever reason, Arthur expected Italy to get upset when he heard this. And perhaps Vargas did tense up and sit a little bit straighter, and there was a good chance that the grip on his quill became enough to snap it in two if he moved too harshly, but the fact remained that Italy didn't give a proper outward reaction. From the moment Huntington as good as tried to stick a target on his back in front of their classmates, Feliciano was silent and studious over his textbook and the assignment Huntington placed on the board before proceeding with the remainder of her lecture. He was absolutely cordial and polite about it as well, and once they were dismissed he packed up his things and turned around with an amicable smile on his face for Arthur, stepping over to come up beside him so he could set a hand on Arthur's arm, smile next to his face, and hiss:

"This weekend I'm going to Hogsmeade, and I'm going to take this thing _off_."

Arthur did not argue.

* * *

Feliciano had made a promise to his brother at the end of second year that he intended to keep, not just because he wanted to keep his word, but because he understood and respected the reason _why_ Lovino had made him swear to take the charm off.

It was one thing to be cut off from home. It was one thing to wake up feeling completely alone with another nation and two boys sleeping in the same chamber. He was physically removed from his people, isolated from his language, out of touch with his media, and unaware of his government and its actions. It was lonely.

England's presence made it easier because there was comfort in knowing that someone else _knew_ what he was going through. England didn't get it as badly, they'd discussed it over summer and probably would again this coming Christmas, so Feliciano already understood that everything he felt on this mission England only suffered half of. Scottish children still spoke English. English children were still English.

British history, British culture, British society, British food, British art.

Because the Italian art, Feliciano finally discovered, had all been moved to one locked hall up on the seventh floor above the duelling hall. The corridor where the remaining portraits- those by Italian painters and those depicting Italian scenes, was patrolled day and night by two living suits of armor. He was happy for the additional protection and he approved of the school's methods, but that didn't stop him from beginning to feel even more lost and out of touch when he couldn't even hope for grape vines or roman columns on the walls as he followed his classmates to lessons. He was surrounded by Scottish moors and Welsh glades and Irish forests along the rolling English countryside. The architecture of the school was Germanic and the faux-Latin of English magical instruction just…

Scorpius' match against Gryffindor was coming up fast on Sunday, so that Saturday Feliciano used those the extra Quidditch obligations to leave as many friends behind as he could. He had to get into Hogsmeade and find _anywhere_ that he could be alone for an hour, no more than two, and take the charm off.

If Feliciano couldn't put his mind back in the context of being Italy, then he was going to lose himself completely to a temper he had no right to feel this strongly. The last time Feliciano had been this short and this miserable when offended he had been an Empire who owned and dominated half of the Mediterranean Sea: he absolutely could not afford to be that miserable, bad-tempered little brat again.

He abandoned Scorpius to go and take part in practice, sent Gino out of the common room and threw on fake tears to convince Ellie and Charles to go looking for the animal while Feliciano pretended to help them, only to leave the castle with the Hogsmeade carriage. England stayed behind to keep the others misdirected, and when Feliciano ran into Gloria and Margaret in the village right where the carriage dropped him off, he was grinding his teeth looking for any way to get rid of them.

Hogsmeade was one of the only all-wizard villages in Britain. It was all the colour of Diagon Alley with half the noise and twice the excitable shoppers and passers-by. With a train station and several shops to keep commerce going, it wasn't a very large place, but it had wonderful character.

It wasn't his first time in Hogsmeade, but he paid for three butter beers at The Three Broomsticks pub just to stop the other two Slytherin girls from pestering him. They tried to talk to him about Professor Huntington and the way she'd decided not to like him, but Feliciano just commented that the drink was too sweet and refused to finish it. He sat there worrying a warming charm Ellie had made for him between his gloved fingers, scarf and winter robe still wrapped around him in the bright and cheerful body of the Hogsmeade bar where students frequented for snacks and innocent drinks.

He wanted to leave, he wanted to go and do what he'd come into Hogsmeade for, _then_ come back and have an hour long chat about nothing really important. By the time Margaret slipped away to go talk to a group of their fourth year friends, the only reason Feliciano didn't force a break in the conversation was because of what Gloria said as soon as they were alone:

"Did you know Professor Malfoy and Professor Huntington had a _row_ yesterday?" He had no idea what a rowboat- wait a fight, she meant a _fight_. "Classless, really: not Professor Malfoy, but the American!"

Gloria Flint had a very pretty round face, but sometimes her personality was very ugly and it made the prettiness slip and fall away. She'd started doing something to her black hair to lighten it, making her more of a brunette now with extra curls and twists to the otherwise straight fall so they were up and springy before being clipped back behind her head. She had a pouty kind of mouth and had started wearing a cherry coloured gloss on her lips, but at least she wasn't caked in make-up at thirteen.

"What happened?" Feliciano didn't want to waste time asking, but he picked up the gossip as it was offered to him.

"_Apparently_ he heard about the way Professor Huntington called your family out on being- _you know_, like that." Being _like that_ over a thousand years ago felt like it should have been trivia, not something really worth pointing out. Nevermind that the definition of _black magic_ had been a lot different back then anyways. "And he didn't hear it from _me_ if that's what you're thinking! I would never go tattling just to help you get back at a busy-body like Huntington."

"I thought you _liked_ her class?" And moments like these were when the ugly bits of Gloria's personality came out. Feliciano had every reason to hope that she'd grow out of it in a few more years…

"She's worlds better than Binns, but that's not saying much really."

"Why did Professor Malfoy get so upset?"

"_Honestly_, Feli, don't you know anything about society?" He ignored the dig with a roll of his eyes and waited for her answer, which Gloria gave with a feisty little smirk and a satisfied roll of her shoulders. "The Malfoy Family had a _terrible_ reputation for black magic during the Wars against You-Know-Who. Why, according to my father, my grandfather was so _terrified_ of Professor Malfoy's father at one point that he tried to have the famous headmaster Albus Dumbledore sacked from Hogwarts. Black magic is a serious offense here in Britain." It was a serious offense _everywhere…_

"My family doesn't have anything to worry about, but thank you, Gloria." Nudging his too-sweet bottle of butter beer away, Feliciano started to stand up. "I have to go now, see you in the common room later-"

"What? But we only just sat down!"

"I know, but-" but what? What was he going to say? Instead of finding words right away, Feliciano had his hands open and was looking around them, finally figuring out what to do. "But, listen. I didn't come down here with Kirkland today. I left Higgs and Gamp up at the school and Malfoy- Scorpius, he's at Quidditch practice. I just came to Hogsmeade to be alone today. Time to myself you know?" And then the words that had sounded solid in his head came out vain once they hit the air, and Feliciano didn't even have to see the way she shrank back a little to understand he'd made a mistake. "Wait, listen!"

"No, I understand."

"No, you don't!"

"Vargas-"

"Come to the Match with me tomorrow!" What? "I mean- I know you're going to go anyways, but let's sit together! We can- no, I'll bring snacks and we'll share them! Does that sound alright? Please, I just- today is not a good day for me. I don't feel well and I just need to be alone until it passes." He just had to be completely alone so he could shed the feeling of being in absolute isolation. It was twisted and felt wrong, but magic wasn't meant to follow logic or make outright sense.

"Tomorrow…" She repeated slowly, the hurt look on her face slowly starting to melt away. Feliciano clued in just in time to realize he was too late. "Alright then, but only if I get to choose our seats!" There was a very happy, very genuine smile growing in her eyes and Feliciano tried to be happy to see it there, but it didn't work.

"Y-yes, of course you can. I don't mind." Because he'd just…

"It's a date then!" Just asked a thirteen year old _child_…

"A date…" On a _date…_

He hoped very hard that stammering and fidgeting and ultimately running away from the student-friendly pub were all acceptable teenage-boy reactions to what he'd just done, but at least it got Feliciano away from her and the rest of their peers. The snow was soaking through his pants and his feet were ice cold as soon as he broke away from the main street of the village and began weaving through buildings looking for the edge of the settlement. He pulled the hood of his class robe up over his head to hide his face before leaving the last row of buildings and cutting into the trees, and if he could have removed the slytherin badge fused to his breast he would have done it. Instead, he had to settle for anyone seeing him already knowing he was a Slytherin and hope they didn't know which one. He had to leave the tracks he made in the snow behind and hope no one followed him.

This wasn't Feliciano's first time in Hogsmeade this year, and before November and its early snowfall had arrived Feliciano and England had already convinced their friends to go along with the inane idea of seeing what the terrain around Hogsmeade were like. Obviously the kids had thought they were insane, but the wandering had been worth the rounds of snacks and drinks the two nations had been forced to buy in exchange for the tiring walk.

Locals who lived under the shadow of the school all probably knew about the dell just a hill and a half away from the edge of town, but as long as they didn't visit it today, he didn't care. It was dangerous in winter anyways because the pond was deep enough that it wasn't frozen over when Feliciano climbed the hill and then slid down to the water's rippling edge. Taking great care not to fall in, he scurried around the edge where green grass grew in autumn and spring and found the safest place he and England had been able to find without wandering far enough from Hogsmeade to be missed. The land rose up and bent back on itself, and there against the ridge was a very small hollow.

It had once been a massive tree, but either a wizard or nature had split it in two with a lightning-bolt and watched it tip over and settle half under the pond. Its roots were raised up as high as Feliciano was tall when fully grown, its trunk wide open on its side and a squeeze for an adult, but just right for a child to scramble through.

Inside it was musty, moldy, and smelled like animals had been burrowing in for winter, but he didn't care. There was enough space for him to stand or sit and stretch his legs, but he waited patiently first.

Waited a full ten, almost fifteen minutes just to make sure no one had followed him.

And then he got ready to take the charm off.

He hexed the opening to block any of the light he knew the charm gave off when put on and taken off, then enlarged every piece of clothing he was wearing so nothing would strangle or bite into him, shivering from the cold air that hit his neck when the scarf came loose over his shoulders from being lengthened and widened. It wasn't just cold in Scotland, it was _damp_ absolutely everywhere.

Digging into the loosened neck of his shirt and tie, he fished out the ice cold chain and the heavy cross that had a permanent place against his chest, pulling it over his head and then holding it in his hand to watch the faint light from the open trunk glitter off its gem-encrusted surface. Both the watch and the cross were enchanted so that just touching them like this would keep the charm in-tact, a safety precaution in case they ever needed to remove them from wrist or neck to appease someone without breaking their cover.

Holding his breath for a good ten seconds, he dropped the dead girl's memento on the musty, moldy floor of the hollow.

Instead of a dead tree he might as well have been in a tiny boat loosed in a hurricane, because Feliciano heard himself groaning with nausea as his vision started swimming and he pitched over onto his side, wand clutched in his hand and eyes closed as he kicked weakly trying to shake off the swimming sensation creeping under his skin and knocking his stomach like a punching bag. Everything began aching, throbbing, and _stretching_ until he felt his knees ram up against something and his toes were wet inside his ill-fitted shoes.

But as soon as the nausea and sickness peaked, there came the relief.

'_The markets are stable and holding up well in preparation for America's expected Christmas-month boom, the winter fashion runs are over and excess products have been moving fluidly through commercial circles.'_ Why the first thing that came to him was straight-up consumer awareness didn't matter. He honestly did not care. _'We have a new Admiral in the Navy and one of my Arab Spring battleships was retired from service- I hope Lovino pressures them into making it a memorial…'_ Of course he would think of the Navy and the Air Force first, slowly pressing his hands against the damp surface of the tree wall and pushing himself with a groan onto his back.

The Tiber was flowing, the factories in Genoa were producing, Turin's banking industry was secure and Milan was enjoying a boon of Northern European Tourists. Venice was currently dealing with a bought of Aqua Alta, but if the weak twist in his knee meant anything, it would probably recede again before New Years…

Feliciano Vargas melded into the background for several precious, savoured moments, and the Northern Half of the Republic of Italy closed his eyes and fumbled through the backwater of his own mind and selfhood to feel everything he could through the connection.

_Aha!_ The song that had been stuck on and off in his head since getting on the train: he finally remembered the artist's name and course it was because she'd made it to the number one spot on his local music charts. He hummed a few bars of it and smiled to himself, a warm glow feeding into his mind as he relaxed over moldy wood and laid there dangerously close to ice water.

More things came to him but not enough of it was clear. What he would have given in that moment for a cellphone and a wifi signal. His life would have been complete with thirty precious minutes of internet access- or fifteen: just _five?_

Five minutes actually being _in_ Venice. A quick run down the street from his Roman office or snatches of the busy chatter of a break room in Turin's Business Quarter.

So many things he wanted and needed from their next vacation, a month away at the end of December…

But at least he had this. He had the time to just _lay here_ and relax, just give up the disguise and be himself again. It wasn't enough but it was more than he'd had since September, and he felt his good humour rise up while his blood-pressure, blessedly, began to sink.

So an American woman thought South Italy was a dick. Wasn't it just the fair truth? South Italy was kind of a dick.

And that woman felt like dredging up Feliciano's personal mistakes during centuries past, centuries where _he'd_ been King of the Mediterranean and a Most Serene Republic. Of course he'd let it go to his head, and when his Republic had condemned traitors and law breakers to having their legs broken and bodies hung in the harbour with entrails spilling out, why shouldn't his wizarding communities have perfected their spells of pain and torment? There were plenty of ways to skin a cat and the Republic of Venice had been well-versed with both major approaches: hands-on and wand poised.

So he didn't care.

Feliciano did a little bit.

But Italy? Definitely not. It was below him to be offended by such things and he laid there chuckling to himself, calling himself an idiot under his breath because he really had needed to leave the school behind and run away into the woods trying to get his head around all of this.

Just looking at it, mind stretching comfortably without the festering holds of the charm to bind and constrict him, he understood what about it had been making him so angry too. He'd been taking it personally. Huntington probably meant it personally and that was why, according to Miss Flint, Professor Malfoy had lost his temper with the junior Professor. But Italy Veneziano wasn't meant to take silly things like that personally, because he wasn't just a person: he was _more_. He was _beyond_ being simply human.

The charm was doing its job keeping him firmly grounded in a child's body, but Feliciano himself still needed to take into account the fact that he was more than human and his anger was far, far more dangerous.

That was simply all there was to it.

He wasn't really a child.

So he'd better stop acting like one.

* * *

**Alice Huntington was born from several discussions on Tumblr, plus the fact that I have four more years of school content to get through and a minor aggravation was necessary. She IS motivated, but while I could have handled her much more gently like a proper Umbridge-like antagonist, I have a feeling that I'll be doing more editing with the next few chapters to soften her for the FFN readrs. On tumblr, again, there was plenty of expectation and discussion around her for at least a few weeks before she finally appeared, but here the community aspect isn't the same and the raw text is kinda, well, raw.**

**See you guys with the next update! I'm finally wrapping up year 3 on tumblr!**


	35. Another Awful Saturday

_**Snakeskins**_

Another Awful Saturday

Arthur did not appreciate playing babysitter for Italy, but because he did in fact keep Charles and Ellie running around the school all afternoon, convincing them that they should do a thorough search of the library after six rounds of the dungeons, he felt he deserved a reward.

"Before you freak out, it's not what you think." Instead he got a headache when Italy finally returned to the castle from Hogsmeade. Arthur was intent on making the other nation repay the favour for him next term after Christmas break, but first he wanted to know why Italy was so bold in the common room about coming up to Arthur's chair and telling him something terrible had happened.

Had the idiot lost every ounce of sense? Arthur almost jumped up to scream at him for being so damned needy, so irreparably damaged by his own ridiculous ploy and investigation that he'd gone and _got himself __**caught**_ without the charm! Arthur would hang him by his Slytherin tie as soon as the idiot-!

"Kirkland I said it's _not_ what you think!"

"Then spit it out!"

They went bickering down to the boy's dormitory, abandoning Scorpius who was so tired from practice that he'd fallen asleep on one of the common room couches while Higgs and Gamp played a round of chess with their sleeping friend's board. Arthur was ready to pull his wand and hex Italy back into the nineth century when the idiot put both hands up to calm him and spoke.

"I didn't get _caught_," he insisted, something his relaxed face actually confirmed because for the first time all month Feliciano Vargas wasn't a pissy, miserable little brat but was his usual chuckling, idiotic self instead. "But I am in trouble and you have to promise not to hit me for it."

"I will make no such promise."

"But I need your help!"

Taking the charm off for a few hours honestly had done Vargas a world of good, because he even found the sense of self to burst into fake, frightened tears trying to make Arthur swear not to do what Italy damned well deserved and clock him on the head for acting like a fool. They were still in the midst of a back and forth _'please don't get mad!' 'I'm already mad you wanker!'_ when a surprisingly awake Scorpius stomped down into the dormitory and came right between them. The taller blonde boy with his thin hair tangled and messy over his head from his nap looked ready to tear both of them to the ground, but instead of getting on their case for fighting he turned his back on Arthur and honed in on Italy instead.

"Did you honestly ask that nag Gloria on a _date?_"

Arthur almost screamed.

"A date!?" Instead he only yelled, much different. "You asked her on a date? We're in third year and you asked a girl to go out with you!?" Nevermind a mean and spiteful girl like Gloria Flint but a_ child_ a thirteen-year-old _infant_ and he had the _audacity to-!?_

"_See I knew you'd be mad!"_

"_VARGAS!_"

Why Arthur wanted Italy skinned and his head mounted on the wall came from the unmitigated _disgust_ of having him flirting with English children. But as soon as Italy turned tail and tried to flee across the dorm, Scorpius bellowed about her being the worst witch in the school and took off after him before Italy finished scrambling over his own bed to get away.

"She's every teacher's pet and the only people she's nice to in this entire school are you and Finnick!" Arthur wasn't going to waste his breath backing Scorpius up, he just charged around the far side of the beds and tried to cut off Italy's escape route as he tore over the covers of Charles' bed and jumped at the window like he wanted to run along the wall and get away.

"_I hurt her feelings what was I supposed to do!?"_

"_**Not **__ask her out!" _Arthur yelled, lunging and catching Italy around the neck with one arm, ducking his head under the other nation's shoulder like a rugby tackle and tossing them both down on the stone floor. Vargas kicked again before Scorpius pounced on him and the three of them just started grappling and pushing trying to wrestle two against one to stay down. "Are you insane!?"

"She came in laughing and chased Ellie off to Myrtle's toilet!" Italy put his hands up and surrendered, and Arthur was stunned when he looked and grabbed Scorpius' elbow when the other boy pulled his arm back to aim a punch down at Vargas's face. "Gamp's your _friend_ and you snuck off for a date with her worst enemy behind her _back!_"

What had been two on one changed into a three-way struggle when Scorpius tried to shake Arthur off before deciding that he was a valid target too.

"And _you-_!" The force Scorpius used to take his arm back made Arthur falter where he was sitting on one of Italy's legs, and then he took a sharp punch inside the shoulder that shocked him into scrambling away from another hit. "-helped him get away with it!"

"No, that-" Italy tried to speak and then found himself facing down the end of Scorpius' wand, the two nations left stunned not because they'd been tactically out-done, but because they'd never seen Scorpius go off like this. "That's not why I went."

"One more word and you'll regret it, Vargas! Everybody who went down there today says they _saw you!_"

Italy pulled his arms up next to his own shoulders but didn't raise them, he knew better. He surrendered on his back on the dormitory floor and refused to move, Arthur too wary of Scorpius' righteous anger to risk speaking up.

"Some friends you lot make." Putting his wand away Scorpius rose to his feet in one smooth motion, still riddled with anger as he hissed the words and stepped off Vargas, heading straight for the dormitory door again. He didn't say another word, and after he was gone the two nations remained there like that in the silence for another good minute.

Or longer, actually, because even after Italy sat upright and Arthur moved back until he was sitting on the floor and braced his shoulders against the wall, they still didn't say anything. Arthur didn't even ask for a proper, calm explanation of events. He still cared of course, but he wasn't angry and he couldn't drum up the enthusiasm to talk about school drama or real life beyond the castle walls.

He just… suddenly didn't feel like talking at all.

It made for yet another intense and unhappy Saturday. Arthur and Italy were both liars as far as their friends were concerned, and for all Flint's smiling and flirty little waves from across the common room she still refused to acknowledge Arthur's half-blood existence.

The closest to understanding that either of them received was Arthur, and it was from Higgs when the larger boy came back to the common room with water squelching in his shoes from Myrtle's bathroom. He had plenty of anger to pile on Italy with black looks and threatening huffs, and he and Scorpius hogged the third year table and absolutely refused to let the other two off the couch where they'd been directed. Vargas stayed curled up and quiet on one of the green cushions next to Arthur, barely working up the courage to ask where Eliza was before Higgs bared his teeth and scared Italy into giving up conversation.

For Arthur, it was an annoyed look that melted into exasperation and confusion, before finally there were angry words.

"_Why_ would you help him go around and do something like that?"

"I'm telling you now, he didn't go down there to see Flint."

But Higgs didn't believe him. In fact, he probably thought Arthur was even more of a liar for trying to make the plea on Italy's behalf.

In the end they just had to forgo the common room all together to try and find relief, knowing they were only courting disaster because dinner was only two hours away and after that they'd only have another three hours before being sequestered in the common room again.

"So how did it all come about?" The library was no good because neither of them really needed to study and they hadn't thought, or really wanted, to grab government work before leaving. They weren't up for getting in trouble wandering the halls either, and despite the cold that Italy hated they took to walking along the open-air paths around the snowy November courtyard. It was dull, but with other students in clusters of threes and fours playing in the snow from the different houses, two Slytherins weren't worth much comment.

"I ran into them before I even got out of the carriage, so I went with them to the café where all the students go." From there Finnick had abandoned Italy to his fate and when he'd inadvertently hurt a young girl's feelings he'd reacted without thinking to make it better. Alright, Arthur could accept that answer.

"If I catch you snogging a minor, Vargas, I'll have you arrested." Italy laughed at his threat and shook his head, holding one gloved hand out to catch a few snowflakes on his sleeve. Their presence quieted a trio of small first year Ravenclaws, but they moved on shortly afterwards and heard the chatter resume behind them.

"I didn't expect something like that from Scorpius." Italy insisted after a bit more wandering and the two of them came to a brief stop by a glassless window, a warming charm keeping the wind at bay while they saw a group of Hufflepuffs out across the snow doing some Quidditch drills.

"I don't blame him for it: that girl really is awful whenever your back is turned. It's all minor stuff I'm sure she'll grow out of, but in the meantime it's nasty to watch."

"Why would she make fun of Gamp though?"

Arthur gave him a punch in the arm, and when Italy whined about that being unfair Arthur just told him he deserved it. For a Romance Nation he was completely inept sometimes.

"At least it's just one Quidditch match, and everyone was going to go tomorrow anyways!" And he cheered up faster than he had all year whenever something unsavoury came up, so at least there were still the positive results of his brief foray back into adulthood to carry them along.

"Be careful Scorpius doesn't send a bludger your way."

"I have nothing to fear, Seekers can't touch those!"

"But _you're _the one who taught him how to lead them along like a dog for a biscuit." Italy's lack of outright reaction as good as confirmed that he was screaming on the inside, so Arthur, satisfied, left him alone on the matter.

As for how they were going to get out of trouble with the rest of their peers, the Nations had no viable solutions beyond _'wait for them to calm down'_. It was callous to pretend that the rejection didn't hurt, and it was heartless to suggest that the two of them didn't care that they'd hurt their friends' feelings.

Yes, Scorpius, Eliza and Charles were children. But compared to the two of them that made every human being the world over an infant. Factual age didn't matter, human bonds still hurt to forge and break. They couldn't just shrug and go _'oh well, so much for that then!'_ and make new friends to pass the time with.

For one, friends or not they still had to room within three feet of Scorpius and Charles in the boy's dorm. And for another, they'd spent more than enough time getting to know all three Slytherin third years that the two of them honestly didn't _want_ to break away. Even casting aside their mission, having only each other to talk to for the next four years would be unbearably dull. Would it even be worth remaining at Hogwarts without a few basic connections to the legitimate student body?

So the two of them stood there and watched the snow fall, resolved to wait for the bulk of their friends' anger to settle and the three of them to talk one another down from whatever angry precipice Scorpius had nearly thrown himself over by pulling his wand on Italy. They could survive the isolation until after the Quidditch match at least, and if it didn't look like the others were coming around, they would apologize.

It was better than being forced to explain what Italy had _really_ snuck into Hogsmeade for.

"Hey, Arthur." Arthur's gaze was angled skyward at the snow spiralling down from the darkening sky. Dinner would be served soon, and this far north the sun said goodbye long before the human day was actually done. "Is that a football?"

"What?" Looking down again, he followed the angle of Italy's gloved hand where he was pointing across the snow at the Quidditch drills they'd seen earlier, and he was about to remind him of what they were when Arthur noticed a critical flaw in his assumption: you didn't move a quaffle with your feet.

The two nations stared at the figures in winter robes, looked at each other, and then without another word they vaulted the stone window in front of them and landed on the snow outside that was up to their ankles, tearing across the field as fast as their shrunken legs could carry them.

"_Oi!"_

"_Hey!_ Hey is that really-!?"

The floundered for about twenty yards and then broke right onto frosted, dormant grass revealed either by an anti-snow charm or wind that had blasted the white powder away. It wasn't a proper football pitch, but it was more than enough for a scattered group of Hufflepuffs who stopped their game at once as soon as the Slytherins appeared.

In fact, with a second look around Arthur realized he was very wrong about the houses. Yes he did see David Baker and the Finnigan Twins panting in the cold air, but there were also at least two Ravenclaws and a Gryffindor in the mix as well. An official, regulation-sized football was tumbling slowly over the wet grass at Baker's feet before his toe stopped it from rolling too far away, and the Slytherins almost shared a look of shame for interrupting.

"You ain't here to cause trouble, is ya?" One of the Finnigan twins called from across the mini pitch, his brother giving a groan and smacking the other in the arm for his tone.

"What? Of course not!" Italy gasped, horrified by the accusation as Arthur spoke up in a hurry, eyes jumping around looking for whoever was in charge. He didn't recognize the small red-headed Gryffindor who must have been _yet another_ Weasley, and the Ravenclaws were a mystery too, so that left their classmate David Baker to answer the questions for them.

"I haven't seen a football in_ three years!_" So he started off with the most desperate part, watching the uneasy way Baker pulled his foot back over the ball and then kicked it up smoothly into his hands. "Haven't you got room for two more? Vargas and I can help widen the field if we have to."

The skepticism was obvious on Baker's pale face. He had a thick, square jaw and high brown curls that made him look even taller than he already was. Higgs was probably the heavier third year, but Baker was Hufflepuff's best bet at matching him in overall size.

"You two know the rules at all?" It must have been Baker's ball, because no one else said anything when he gave them an inch.

"English or international?" There was a flutter from the Ravenclaws before the lone Gryffindor spoke up.

"What's your team?"

"Manchester!" England felt something bite him inside but went with the first name.

"Not Spain!" Italy cared even less.

A chuckle from the twins and a half-smile from Baker who then shook his head.

"You're daft, Kirkland, Liverpool's got Manchester beat this season."

"Absolutely not."

"Care to put a wager on it?" Baker lifted the ball and let it spin between his fingers, grinning a little bit and loosening up with snow frosting his hair.

"I would, actually!" But before Arthur could start betting chocolate frogs and Charm's homework, Italy started whining and scuffing his feet.

"Why don't we play first and bet later? It's too cold to just stand here!" Of course he'd start giving in to the nippy feeling in his fingers and toes before Arthur could get himself into trouble.

"Vargas'll come with me and the twins, Kirkland you're with Weasley, Jackson and White. Got it?" The two Slytherins shared a quick grin and then hurried to their respective sides, Arthur's eyes finding a pair of goal posts made of snow and hurrying between them where a Ravenclaw girl, who he assumed was either Jackson or White, looked surprised and then happy to give up the keeper position to him.

"Don't let them score on us, Snakeskin."

"Hey now-" but before he could settle between them, he stopped and raised a hand at her. "There'll be none of that, I'm on your team, aren't I?"

The Ravenclaw jumped at his words and blinked the snow off her long dark lashes. She had a much darker complexion than most of the students at Hogwarts and it was curious for Arthur trying to pin down her family's origins. It didn't ultimately matter, she was as English as they came with that accent.

"Oh- sorry? Does it mean something rude?"

"A little bit, yes." The way she opened her brown eyes up wide at that was a curious thing, but Arthur smiled to make sure she knew he wasn't mad. "I'm Kirkland, a third year with Baker. I'd rather you call me that instead."

"I didn't know, I just-" He was getting that impression from her, yes. It was quite alright so long as she didn't do it again. "Manpreet White, second year. I'm sorry I didn't know!"

"You can make up for it by scoring on Vargas then."

"Oi! I said are you ready, Kirkland?"

Saturday evening rebounded from that dreadful afternoon with almost an hour of running and passing in the snowfall, a few ghost lights keeping the unofficial pitch lit as positions changed regularly and everybody had to adjust to the discomfort of trying to play a kicking game in heavy winter robes.

It had simply never come up in Charms or Astronomy that Baker was from a purely muggle household, although Arthur was reminded that the Finnigan twins had a muggle mother. White's family was half immigrants from India, half English magic folk, and Arthur figured out which Weasley he was playing with as they trudged their tired, shivering, soaking wet way through the castle to a hot dinner.

"I'm Rose's brother, Hugo." Hugo Weasley was as tall as Italy, which was impressive until you remembered how tiny Feliciano Vargas was and compared it to Hugo being in first year. "Are you really the Arthur Kirkland she's always talking about? How do two pure-blood Slytherins know about football anyways?" Ah yes, Rose Weasley, Arthur's least favourite Gryffindor.

"One, not a pure-blood." He answered, gesturing to himself. "And two, both raised around muggles." A sweep of the hand to include Italy, who was gabbing happily with the Finnigan twins. "I don't think it matters much what your sister thinks of me, really, she doesn't control you or who you make friends with. Back to football though: I absolutely love it. You?"

"I still like Quidditch better, but my grandpa takes Rose and I to football matches all the time. Makes it kinda special."

"You were the only Gryffindor on the pitch, do any others come to these games?"

"None that I know of. There's a proper muggle-born boy in my class, but he doesn't give a wit about sports, wizard or muggle."

When they entered the great hall they had to filter over to their own house tables. Miss White continuing to walk with him and Italy while Hugo and the Hufflepuffs separated across the hall, but she gave them a polite nod before sitting down with a group of what looked like fourth year friends. As the Slytherins wandered down the side of their own long table to find the section normally occupied by the other third years…

"There you are!" Arthur saw Scorpius' platinum blonde head hunkered down and saying something to Higgs across the table, but the first person to speak to them was Gloria Flint who stood up right in front of both nations and then promptly ignored Arthur's existence. She put a terse little scowl on her face and gave Italy a very brief thrashing. "Why, you're soaking wet, Feliciano! Absolutely dripping, what were you off doing? You must have been rolling around in the snow to get so much of it on you! Why didn't you come sit with Maggie and I instead of leaving in a huff like that?"

"Er, Gloria…"

In the end Italy was successfully coerced to sit next to Gloria, sandwiched between her and the fourth years and leaving Arthur standing there with no readily available place to sit. Italy shot him a desperate look but honestly Arthur pitied him more than resented being left as the odd-one out, and it gave him the motivation to draw a deep breath, set his shoulders back, and walk down the next few seats to reach the other third years.

There was a seat beside Ellie and she scooted down to open up space between her and Scorpius instead, but before Arthur could try and take it: Charles' Care of Magical Creatures book jumped up on the bench and growled at him, snapping it's jagged pages like teeth inside the green cover.

"Charlie stop it." Ellie came to his unwilling rescue, voice fragile from what sounded like too much crying and bloodshot eyes unable to rise and look at Arthur directly. Before she fully calmed the book down with a tender stroke along the gold lettering of its title, Scorpius' book bag came up and took over the vacant space instead.

Arthur took a breath to demand if they really expected him to be Vargas's babysitter and if his stupid blunder was worth all this trouble, but then he took a proper look at Charles' aggressive face and the brittle way Scorpius had his lips pursed together and lost the will to fight with them. They were mad, and only time was going to settle them down.

"Am I at least allowed to cheer for you at the match tomorrow?"

"You'd _better_." Was Scorpius' answer, and with that, Arthur was banished to spend the rest of the night sitting between a pair of second years and listening to his underclassmen fret about the upcoming Quidditch match. He didn't get to see Italy again until he returned to the dorms and the two nations had to just keep tip-toeing around their dorm-mates.

"She's not going to leave me alone until New Years, is she?" Italy lamented, throwing himself on his bed after they both shed their wet clothes and soaked up some heat in the baths, hiding in their dorm to keep away from the ugly looks and obvious flirting. Italy just flopped down with his face in his pillow, white cat pawing across his back to settle between his shoulder blades while Arthur sat on his own bed twiddling his thumbs and being quite useless.

"If you aren't careful she'll go sending you a present for Christmas."

"I like presents and I like pretty girls, but she-"

They were shut up by Scorpius stomping down into the dormitory, changing into his night-clothes and promptly going to bed. They understood that he was going to have an early morning tomorrow, and to avoid the wrath of their house for keeping Slytherin's seeker awake, the nations promptly stopped talking and left their irate friend alone. Fearing what would happen if they showed their faces in the common room- Arthur was Eliza and Charles' least favourite person after the goose-chase he'd led them on, and Flint would attach herself to Italy's arm if he showed his face again, they made themselves settle down and go to sleep at nine o'clock on a Saturday night.

Arthur's best word for it was _degrading._

Another awful Saturday indeed.

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**The feedback as always has been wonderful for this story! Thank you so much, everyone!**


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